


Out of Left Field

by VillaKulla



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Football | Soccer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 87,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now there was just one more thing,” Merlin said, addressing the sweaty, bedraggled, footballers clustered around him. “There’s been a change of ref.”</p><p>Eggsy and the rest of the UK Kingsmen looked at their coach expectantly and he raised his eyebrows.</p><p>"Harry Hart."</p><p>(Football/Soccer AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once when Eggsy was seven years old he’d accidentally started a fire in the flat. His mum had been out looking for work and Eggsy – never one to sit still for long –had taken it upon himself to make hot chocolate. He’d seen his dad do it, heating the milk in a large copper saucepan on the stove, while Eggsy hung onto his legs, getting a worm’s eye view of precise, gentle stirring, and steam starting to curl and wisp off the surface of the milk. They didn’t have that saucepan anymore, since Eggsy’s mum preferred electric kettles. But how different could it be? Eggsy had tipped some milk into the electric kettle, gave the correct dial on the stove a twirl, and had placed the plastic kettle directly on top of the burner.

 

Eggsy’s mum had come home to a flat full of acrid black smoke, the twisted remains of a kettle with its plastic bubbling and congealing in a bright orange burner, and her son curled on the floor, green eyes streaming, hacking his lungs out.

 

Eggsy could still remember how much his lungs burned as he’d sucked in breath after breath of the stinging fumes. They’d strained against his chest, expanding as much as they could, trying to find that _one_ molecule of clean oxygen.

 

His lungs burned again now, practically bursting to pull in as much air as they could, but this was the kind of burn he liked, the kind he _craved_. This time the air was pure, the day was clear, and with the sun beating down on the field, his legs pounding furiously down the green of a football field, cleats kicking up the turf, there was no place in the world he’d rather be.

 

“Rox, on your right!” he bellowed across the field to the girl who had the ball. He took a moment to admire how deftly she maneuvered it, sliding it about her feet in a liquid figure-eight motion, before seamlessly drawing her ankle back and punting it over to him. It sailed towards him and he caught it on his hip, rolling it down his leg where it dropped to the turf, and he began to dribble it down the field without even breaking his mad sprint. He let himself break out into a giddy grin at the fucking harmonious play. They weren’t two of England’s top footballers for nothing, they weren’t.

 

Biting the cheery smile back down, he turned all his attentions towards the goal, its posts getting closer and closer, jerking up and down slightly with every thudding bounce of his feet. He saw Nate their goalie bend his knees, gloved hands out in front of him, bracing himself to spring in whichever direction Eggsy was planning. Eggsy thought he might have a breakaway when –

 

 _\- fuck_ , here came Charlie, barreling towards him from somewhere outside of Eggsy’s periphery, getting _right_ into Eggsy’s circle. Eggsy _just_ managed to practically pirouette the ball around, but Charlie was back charging him, crowding him, and Eggsy looked sharply to his left for the familiar dirty-blonde ponytail, glinting in the sun.

 

He didn’t even have to call her name to know Roxy was tracking every dip and dart of his feet like a hawk. So when he booted the ball back to her end of the field, he could dodge breathlessly around Charlie’s girth, knowing Roxy had it. He ran up towards the goal, registered the satisfying _smack_ of the football as it hit the flat of Roxy’s cleat, propelling it back towards him. And leaping up, he jerked his head violently down where it hit the side of the ball directly with a resonating _thunk_ of a header that sent the ball straight forward, through Nate’s outstretched arms, and sailing right into the back of the net with a _whoosh_ that was music to Eggsy’s ears.

 

 Eggsy whooped and looked round for Roxy, beaming at her. She bounded over, ponytail swinging, and they clapped their hands together in a brisk, palm-tingling high-five that was as natural and automatic as their plays. Roxy had joined the UK Kingsmen two years ago, the first year the league had opened up to women. Within a year she’d been made co-captain to Eggsy. If the national sports media had been expecting a feud or some kind, or a resentful rivalry, they’d been sorely mistaken, at least where Eggsy was concerned. Roxy might be the only girl on their team – so far – but she outplayed them all when they were actually on the turf. She was one hell of a co-captain, not to mention an even better friend. That didn’t mean they didn’t still give each other a hard time, mutual teasing being their other favourite sport apart from football.

 

“Sorry, luv, didn’t mean to catch you napping,” Eggsy grinned at her, hands on his knees, still somewhat breathless.

 

Roxy snorted. “You’re one to talk. You spent so long waltzing with Charlie I was half expecting a proposal.”

 

“He wishes,” said Charlie, walking over, expression somewhat sour from having been out-maneuvered, but he clapped a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder in a sportsmanlike enough gesture. It had taken some of the lads a while to get completely comfortable playing with someone who was from a neighborhood they wouldn’t have even deigned to stop for gas in, lest their Mercedes’s receive a key dragged firmly along the sides. If there was any lingering tension after four years years, Eggsy’s captainship made them too polite to voice anything about it. Not to mention the fact that Eggsy Unwin - chav wunderkind from the wrong side of London’s tracks -  _was_ in fact the real deal.

 

A piercing whistle rang out across the green.

 

“You lot!” A thick Scottish brogue cut through the air. “Bring it in.”

 

The UK Kingsmen jogged back across the field towards a tall figure that was wearing a soft woolen pullover, despite the June heat. The man held a silver whistle in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Eggsy already knew what some of it held- he’d been keeping track of his own (minute) cockups even as he made them – but he knew amidst the pencil clusters and spirals outlining different plays, there would be some pointers that wouldn’t have even occurred to him.

 

“Alright, team,” said Merlin, clipboard aloft, and they all straightened up a bit at the authority in their coach’s voice. “Nicely done. Eggsy; leave your left side more open. A fraction of an inch less and Roxy’s kick would have ricochetted right off you. Roxy; flatten your foot if you’re going to be making airborne kicks from that distance.” Roxy nodded smartly and Merlin glanced back down at his clipboard. “But excellent execution. That’s exactly the play we’ll be wanting to use in next week’s quarter finals.”

 

The team exchanged pumped-up, gleeful looks. They were one of the UK Premier League’s Big Four, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they would have made the cut to at least the quarter finals. But did that make it any less exciting? Hell no.

 

“Now there was just one more thing,” Merlin said, addressing the sweaty, bedraggled, footballers clustered around him. “There’s been a change of ref.”

 

A few eyebrows shot up. Some of the Kingsmen cast puzzled glances at each other. Referee turnover wasn’t an especially unusual occurrence in the big leagues, but this far into the playoffs? They’d gotten used to their normal refs and assistant linesmen.

 

“What happened to Gibsy?” Nate spoke up, referring to their usual ref who was not exactly a crowd favourite.

 

“A few too many noisemakers to the head?” sniggered Digby, one of their midfielders.

 

“It seems Mr. Gibson would like to live out the rest of his good years without the fear of being jumped by overzealous, patriotic fans, who feel as though they’re championing their precious football teams by bringing up calls they took offense to, fifteen years back,” Merlin said.

 

“So he finally snapped,” nodded Cuthbert wisely, picking at a shin pad that had gotten scuffed while playing defense.

 

“He has my utmost sympathy,” said Merlin drily. “Given that working with just your team is enough to do me in. He has to deal with _twenty_ teams in any given season, which is twenty times the number of smartarses like you. A selfless career indeed.”

 

The Kingsmen bit back grins. They never would have played as well for Merlin if they weren’t completely confident in how much he adored them under the brusque, disapproving Scottish vowels.

 

“So who’s the new bloke?” Eggsy spoke up. “I mean Gibsy needed to take the goal-post out of his arse no doubt, but at least he’s better than some stranger.” Some of the team nodded their agreement.

 

Merlin gave a wry smile. “Well I wouldn’t exactly call the new referee a stranger. Even if you’ve never met, I’m sure you’re all familiar with his name.” They looked at their coach expectantly and he raised his eyebrows.

 

“Harry Hart.”

 

It was like a bomb had gone off on the sidelines.

 

“No _fucking_ way!” shouted Charlie.

 

“Harry _Hart_?” exclaimed Rufus.

 

“That is straight up _mental_.”

 

Roxy stood composed while she waited for the rest of her team to settle down, before she addressed Merlin.

 

“I thought FIFA referees couldn’t be formally associated with any of the Premier League teams?” she asked.

 

“They can after a twenty-year period of no play,” said Merlin. “And given that Harry Hart retired from the UK Kingsmen twenty-three years ago, he is legally eligible to act as a referee for matches that involve his former team.”

 

“This is fucking _great_ , mate,” said Charlie to Merlin, cracking his knuckles. “Another Kingsman on the field? Where’s the downside?”

 

Eggsy narrowed his eyes, not sharing in his teammates’ joy at this particular aspect of Merlin’s revelation. He could see _plenty_ of downsides to this arrangement, but Merlin spoke up first.

 

“Don’t get too excited,” he cautioned them. “I’ve known Harry a long time, and if you think this means any kind of favoritism, you can wipe those smirks off your faces. He might be a former Kingsman, but he’s more than capable of putting aside any kind of sentimentality. If anything, you lot should expect him to go _harder_ on you, to avoid accusations of bias.”

 

This was exactly what Eggsy had been thinking, calling up memories of old clippings that decorated the League’s stadium and clubhouse, showing a stern-looking man with ramrod straight posture. Not exactly the image of a man who’d be inclined to give any kind of leeway to any footballer, former team or not.

 

“Won’t that be like…reverse-favoritism?” asked Eggsy skeptically. “I mean how’s that fair?”

 

“Give him a chance first, Eggsy,” said Merlin patiently. “In the time I’ve known him he’s always been more than fair and professional.”

 

Eggsy had _plenty_ more to say on this matter but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t the same hot-headed young lad that Merlin had recruited when Eggsy was twenty, with a chip on his shoulder about everything, and letting everyone know it. There might have still been a _slight_ chip, but these days it was more balanced than not.

 

“Alright, any further questions?” asked Merlin briskly. “Excellent. Well played today. Meet here at six AM tomorrow. Eggsy, Roxy, don’t forget, captains’ press conference at three, so bring something decent as a change of clothes.” This last comment was mostly directed at Eggsy, his favoured caps a longstanding source of contention between the player and his coach. He blew Merlin a kiss and Merlin just rolled his eyes.

 

“Dismissed.”

 

The team filed out, picking up the Gatorade bottles and jerseys that had been scattered along the sidelines, over the course of their practice. Eggsy and Roxy stayed towards the back, tidying up in a more organized fashion that was reflective of their captainship. Merlin gave them a nod and pulled himself up into the stands where he settled into one of the front-row seats, pulling out his pencil, and getting back to his many calculations, all done with the same single-minded focus of improving his team. God, Eggsy loved the stuff that came out of that ridiculously shiny head.

 

Heaving the netted bag of footballs over his shoulder, he handed a stack of orange pylons to Roxy, and they made their way back to the locker room. It was a shared locker room, and if some of the lads had been wary about a significantly different pair of…cleats coming into their turf, Roxy had made it abundantly clear she zero interest in anything going on under their towels, and zero interest in their opinions of what was under hers.

 

“If you think I’m going to prep for a game cloistered away in my own locker room, away from the rest of my team, you’re out of your mind,” she’d calmly told Eggsy when he’d first politely offered her the option. But she’d had more than a fair point. No player, let alone _captain_ would ever want to stay out of their locker room, and miss out on the inane joking, crass comments, and towel-snapping, that believe it or not, _does_ make a difference to team morale.

 

“So. Harry Hart,” she said thoughtfully, as they walked into the player’s entrance that led away from the field and back into the inner workings of the stadium.

 

Eggsy groaned.

 

“What, not keen?” asked Roxy, lifting an eyebrow. “He was one of the best players the Kingsmen ever had, until his injury. People have compared a lot of your moves to his, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” grumbled Eggsy. “Best right-cross in the league, I’m practically Harry Hart, born again. Except he’s the most uptight, posh, condescending looking wanker I’ve ever seen, and _that_ is saying something in this League,” he said. “We won’t be able to get away with _anything_.”

 

“You’re just saying that ‘cause Gibsy liked you,” said Roxy, nudging him with the butt of one of her pylons.

 

“Well how could he not,” said Eggsy, sending her his sprightly media smile that he knew she’d find anything _but_ charming. She laughed and kicked him lightly.

 

“Get a grip, coverboy,” she said, and they turned a corner of the stadium’s hallways.

 

“I’m just saying, the last thing we need’s another rich twat running around that field,” said Eggsy. “Blimey, he’s liable to ask for tea, mid-match. Can you imagine? Having to hold the game because Mr. Cambridge who’s past his prime requires his cream, and two lumps of sugar, _if_ you so please,” he said, in an affected, uppercrust British accent, primly holding his pinky finger aloft, making Roxy laugh slightly. They turned another corner and walked –

 

\- straight into someone else coming from the other direction, colliding into the gentleman with an inelegant _oof_.

 

“Oi, can’t you watch where you’re going?” said Eggsy crossly while rubbing his knee, trying to cover up how much his heart hammered at every surprise bump to his dominant football leg.

 

“I do apologize,” said a calm voice that sounded like it was coming straight from a BBC Christmas morning broadcast. Eggsy’s head snapped up at the sophisticated intonation, and he found himself face to face with –

 

\- Harry Hart. Former Kingsman star forward, and current principle referee for the rest of the playoffs. Whom Eggsy had just been taking the piss out of. Well fuck.

 

Eggsy took him in, this man who would soon be reffing them as early as next week, for their quarter final match. Of course he knew what Harry Hart looked like. God knows he’d watched enough old matches and seen enough newspaper clippings to recognize one of the biggest players in the history of his own bloody team. But then, Hart had always been in his full football kit, running single-mindedly up and down a pitch, every inch the sportsman.

 

Now he stood before Eggsy and Roxy in some kind of suit that looked like it was tailored to the millimeter, an umbrella slung effortlessly over one arm in a way that _should_ have looked affected but honestly didn’t. He had perfectly coiffed brown hair that didn’t seem to be the slightest bit limp despite the heat, and was eyeing Eggsy behind a prim pair of spectacles. Eggsy felt his mouth go dry under the man’s gaze.

 

“I was just looking for Merlin,” he said. “And I believe they’ve changed the layout to the field down here, since my day. I wonder if you could tell me where I could find him?”

 

Eggsy was still taking in the figure that had appeared out of nowhere like some perfectly-tailored apparition, so Roxy inclined her head back towards where they’d came from.

 

“Next left and keep going,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”

 

“Thank you,” he said. “Lovely to run into you both – literally,” he added with a smile.

 

Roxy smiled back but Eggsy was unamused. He’d been expecting some overly put-together tosser who hadn’t been on a football field in far too long, and he was right. Harry stepped aside, gesturing for them to go past him, and Eggsy hoisted his bag of footballs over his shoulder again, as they prepared to head to the locker room.

 

“One small thing, however,” the crisp voice called after them, and they turned around again. Harry’s lips were quirked slightly at Eggsy. “I take my tea with cream and just one lump of sugar,” he said easily. “My cholesterol is not the same as it once was, what with being ‘past my prime’ and all.”

 

Roxy covered up a snort with a cough, and Eggsy’s eyes narrowed at Harry. Harry inclined his head politely, and whirled around again, making his way through the corridor, one purposeful stride at a time.

 

“Very smooth, Unwin,” said Roxy mildly, continuing to walk. If she was annoyed at her co-captain having been overheard by her new ref too, she was too amused to show it.

 

“Shut it,” grumbled Eggsy in embarrassment. He risked another look over his shoulder at the figure they’d just bumped into. He caught a glimpse of a pinstripe jacket before it whisked around the corner, out of sight again.

 

Well. He’d fucked that up spectacularly. Eggsy wondered just how many more times he was destined to make an idiot out of himself in front of this Harry Hart, before the football season was even through.

 

“You going to stand there all day?” Roxy called back.

 

Eggsy snapped to, and pushed all thoughts of their new ref and his perfectly-ironed pinstripes out of his head. And shifting the weight of the footballs over his back, Eggsy ran to catch up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Kingsman fic, so more than a little pressure! Haha but any and all criticisms are greatly appreciated, and I hope you guys enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Hart stood in the middle of his kitchen, one hand stirring a generous spoonful of cream into his tea, and the referee’s almanac of football rules balanced in the other. Not that he didn’t know them backwards and forwards already, but what with being a sudden replacement in the looming quarter finals, he could honestly stand to know them diagonally as well.

 

The kitchen radio crackled in the background while Harry delicately shook the spoon and set it on the corner of the sink, where he might get it afterwards. He took a sip from his cup – perfect temperature – and flipped the page of his manual, eyes scanning down the page of regulations for fouls, reabsorbing all the information he’d studied so long ago, back when _he_ was the one playing the game.

 

God, he couldn’t _stand_ when his former teammates couldn’t be bothered to have a simple rudimentary knowledge of their sport’s finer details. He’d played with some skilled men back in the day, no question about that. But when it came to actually having that further understanding of the game, beyond the mere physical component…they just couldn’t be bothered. Reporters had often told Harry he was a natural, told him football must flow through his veins, asked him if he was born on a football field…

 

…Hardly. Just many nights spent with a handbook of the game, so that when the time came to play it, the foundations were already taken care of and he could focus on the physical. But thank you very much, Daily Mirror, how very kind of you to ask. And no I’m not dating anyone either.

 

Harry smiled slightly to remember how badgered he’d felt by the sports press corps, all wanting a word from the allegedly camera-shy Kingsmen star. Bloody hell, and _he_ thought he’d had it bad…it was relentless no doubt, but nothing compared to what today’s athletes had to deal with. It had always been ridiculous to Harry…the concept of celebrity that went along with sports, when all the athletes were there serving something bigger than themselves.

 

Or maybe he was just – God help him – getting old. Harry idly wondered how it would feel to be back on the pitch amidst a group of players in their prime, but this time as the one holding the whistle. All those bright young things, and him acting as the resident killjoy. He mentally apologized to his future ego for agreeing to this. But he’d owed Merlin, his former teammate, a favor. And the knowledge that they'd be able to catch up as well was tempting, not that he could be shown to favor any of the league’s coaches over the others. But of course he favored Merlin. His lip quirked to remember some of the shenanigans they’d gotten up to back in their days as Kingsmen. The thing was, Harry might have had the reputation as a buzzkill…but that was just because he was better at covering up his hijinks.

 

A voice floated over across the kitchen from the radio. He walked over, cuppa in one hand, and turned the knob slightly.

 

_…already seen as favourites to win, the UK Kingsmen are in full preparation mode for next week’s quarter finals against the Chester Crimsons. Given the match history of both teams, the Kingsmen are seen as a shoe-in for victory, especially with this year’s co-captainship of Eggsy Unwin and Roxy Morton taking the team to new heights. They’ll be answering questions in today’s Captains’ Press Conference, along with Kingsmen coach Merlin Graham, due to start on time at three o’clock._

Harry switched the radio off and made his way to his living room to settle in for the conference. Not that he cared about the usual drivel they’d be asked, but he wanted to get a feel for all the captains he’d have to deal with over the next few weeks. What they were like. It would save him a hell of a lot of psychoanalyzing on the field. Although he supposed in this particular instance he’d gotten an unintended preview.

 

Harry snorted as he picked up his remote and turned the TV onto Sky Sports. He was remembering their faces, particularly that of the boy, who’d looked like he’d swallowed petrol oil when he’d realized it was the subject of his song-and-dance that had materialized. Cheeky bugger. But by all accounts, a talented player, as well as the girl.

 

And speak of the devils, here they came onto the screen, looking a far cry from how flushed and sweaty they’d looked when coming off the field. The girl was wearing a snappy light blue dress and black blazer. The boy walked in wearing…something. It was probably clothes, Harry just hadn’t realized they made them quite so yellow or so large. The whole thing was topped off by a cap that was being eyed with some consternation by Merlin, who was still waiting to walk on. The captains walked in giving the pressroom a couple of cheery waves. The boy – Unwin – leaned forward to whisper something in Roxy’s ear that made her laugh. Harry couldn’t see their feet behind the table, but he was pretty sure she had given him a kick. He couldn’t help feeling a smidge of warmth. There’d been all manner of feathers ruffled when the League had started accepting girls. But the sight in front of him confirmed what Harry already knew, that teammates were teammates, and a small thing like gender wouldn’t get in the way of giving each other shit.

 

The warm feeling increased when Merlin joined them at the elevated table. It had been good to see the man the other day. He’d found him in the exact position he’d expected: feet propped up on the stadium seats, poring over a set of notes, thoroughly engrossed until Harry had – in a moment of extreme weakness – punted a stray ball towards him to make him jump and scowl until he realized it was his former teammate. It had been much too long since they’d caught up, and Harry was looking forward to doing more once the finals had wound down, and they could enjoy a pint or five without the look of ‘illegal fraternization between coaches and officials.’

 

The figure of Merlin on the TV reached out to shake his captains' hands before sitting down next to Unwin, who promptly switched their water bottles for no apparent reason. Merlin rolled his eyes, but Harry could see the fondness in them even from the couch, as Merlin gave the lad a friendly jostle. They then focused in as the questions began.

 

***

“Eggsy! Eggsy over here! Eggsy!”

 

Eggsy could barely hear over the constant chattering of camera shutters. He waited for the moderator to select a reporter, and he gave them a smile.

 

“Stephen! How’re you, mate? Good to see you weren’t canned after that last piece you wrote about me.”

 

The reporter gave an indulgent laugh and held out his recorder.

 

“What can you tell us about your strategies for the upcoming games?”

 

“Well that depends, Stephen, do you want the long version or the short version? If you want the long version I suggest you ask the gentleman to my left,” Eggsy said, nudging Merlin. “But since you asked me, here’s the short version of our strategy: win.”

 

The room gave a hearty chuckle and the hollering started up again.

 

“Merlin, your team is a favourite to win going into the finals, but many people have put their money on the Victoria Valentines to win the whole thing. Do you have a comment?”

 

“Yes, my mother is one of those people, and I told her I don’t mind so long as she splits any profits with me,” said Merlin drily, to approving laughter and applause. “The Valentines are a fine team, the Chester Crimsons are as well, and so are Middleborough. We’re looking forward to playing all of them, and we’re looking forward to beating them even more.”

 

Applause. There were a few more questions to Merlin and Eggsy about how the team had developed over the years, and where they saw the future of international football. And then the inevitable shift in attention to Roxy. And Eggsy had done enough of these press conferences with her to know that unlike him or Merlin, she wasn’t going to be asked about strategy. Ah yes, and here came the old faithful, right off the bat:

 

“Roxy, what is it like being the only woman to play for the Kingsmen?”

 

Roxy could have sliced through the tiresome question if she’d so chosen, but it looked like she would be keeping the classy route for the time being:

 

“Thrilling. I grew up as a massive fan of the big leagues, and I know I’d have loved to have seen more women on the pitch, as a girl who never wanted to do anything but play football. And it’s mental to know that right now there are thousands of other girls who will be watching the games now, just like I used to, only knowing that their dreams are now a reality.”

 

“And do you have any thoughts on the changing the name to something more gender neutral, instead of Kings _men_?”

 

Roxy looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. It’s been Kingsmen for so long, I don’t see the use in breaking a tradition that’s not actively hurting anyone.” She coughed something that sounded like ‘ _Redskins_ ’ under her breath.

 

The typical questions continued: - _Roxy, is there any truth to the rumors that you and Eggsy are dating?_ \- _None whatsoever, Helen. The only balls I’m interested in are the ones on the field, and I’ve seen Eggsy in the showers…his don’t make it down that far_.

 

Eggsy had grinned hugely at that, and enjoyed the rest of the show that was Roxy vs. UK sports press corps. She kept them all laughing and eating out of her hand, snarky when the question called for it, and always having a thoughtful sound bite. He could already tell the next day’s coverage of this conference would be Roxy dominated.

 

At one point he glanced over to Merlin who had a similar expression of enjoyment while he watched Roxy’s one-woman show, but something about it looked slightly soft. He had that look on his face that he got when he was poring over his clipboard, eyeing all his lovingly scribbled calculations.

 

 

Eggsy suddenly wanted to laugh hysterically. He stared at Merlin until finally the coach noticed him. Eggsy gave him a very obvious smirk and Merlin – with a well-practiced poker face – reached under the table to pinch Eggsy on the thigh until his eyes watered.

 

Okay okay, Eggsy would be merciful for now. But if Merlin thought he wasn’t filing away this recent hunch for future observation, the man was out of his mind.

 

A nasal voice made him focus back in to Roxy’s portion of the questions.

 

“Roxy, this is Shelia Waters from Teen Vogue.” The reporter stood up, holding the press conference mic. “Our readers want to know about how you keep up a beauty regimen as a professional athlete, and how do you maintain a pedicure while spending so much time in cleats?”

 

Eggsy’s jaw fairly dropped at that. For _real_? Holy shit. He looked back at Merlin who was eyeing the reporter as though she’d just suggested they change the name of the game from football to soccer.

 

Roxy just stared at the reporter with a pleasantly neutral expression.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the last part.”

 

The reporter faltered, and lifted the mic again.

 

“How do you keep a pedicure in cleats?”

 

Roxy kept staring the reporter down.

 

“I’m sorry I still can’t hear you.”

 

The reporter was looking around nervously now and asked the question again, much less certainly.

 

“How are you able to keep a pedicure while wearing cleats?”

 

Roxy smiled. “I beg your pardon. What was that?”

 

The reporter opened her mouth, and shut it, suddenly blushing furiously. “Never mind,” she muttered, and sat back down.

 

There was silence in the pressroom for a few moments while Roxy’s refusal to answer the question sunk in. Rather than skewer the question itself, she’d just pretended not to hear it – and in doing so, made it abundantly clear how ridiculous it was, and also that it was one she would not answer, making it one less absurd question she’d be asked in the future.

 

Eggsy already knew his co-captain could be a bloody genius, but it was still something to see it in action.

 

The mic got handed to another reporter, and Eggsy visibly relaxed when he saw who it was. Christine Landon, who wrote one of the few decent sports columns that was still going on. She’d always given Roxy a good show in the press.

 

“Roxy, soon you’ll be coming face-to-face with the only other woman in the Premier League so far, Giselle Norman, known in the media as ‘Gazelle’. Are you looking forward to it?”

 

Roxy pounced on the question. “I can’t wait. She’s a brilliant player. We’re both left forwards, so Eggsy will probably have more to do with her, since he’s on the right and they’ll have to go head-to-head a lot more.” She grinned. “But I’m happy to give him any pointers he needs.”

 

A ripple of laughter and the mic got handed down to a balding man, still with more hair than Merlin, although about ten times the shine, sweat glistening on his forehead.

 

“This is a question for all of you, since we’re on the topic of Gazelle. This is also the first year that prosthetics have been allowed in the premiere league. Do you feel that Gazelle – as a double amputee with original prosthetics designed for football – should be allowed? Or rather, do you think she has an unfair advantage over the rest of the players?”

 

There was dead silence. Even the rest of the reporters seemed to think a line had been crossed, and they were well-paid to forget those lines were there. Jesus. And Eggsy had thought the one from Teen Vogue had been the worst they’d have to face.

 

Eggsy leaned forward. “I’m sorry…are you asking if a player who’s an _amputee_ has an unfair advantage over players with both their legs?”

 

The man nodded. But before Eggsy could think of something to say, Roxy spoke up:

 

“Yes I do think she has an advantage.”

 

Eggsy and Merlin’s heads swiveled in surprise over to Roxy. But she just smiled wickedly out at the pressroom.

 

“She doesn’t have to get asked about pedicures by you lot.”

 

 

***

 

Harry was on his second cup of tea, and fifth outburst of surprised laughter from the show being put on by the Kingsmen, particularly the girl. There was a sharp one. He wasn’t supposed to root for teams, but he could root for specific players, couldn’t he? He hoped this Roxy Morton had a long future in football, if for no other reason than to brighten up the mind-numbing wonder that was typical football press.

 

The boy, for all the attitude Harry had picked up on in their first encounter, seemed happy to take a backseat to Morton, occasionally providing input, or teasing both her and Merlin in turn. Despite the outrageous outfit he was wearing, his answers were clear, thoughtful, and had a maturity that Harry wouldn’t have expected from a player whose six-pack was plastered across every news kiosk in town, whenever it was football season.

 

Unwin was receiving another question. And Harry’s ears perked up when he heard what it was.

 

“Eggsy, how do you think the change in referee will affect the rest of the matches, given that Harry Hart used to play for your team?”

 

The yellow-swamped figure on Harry’s TV shrugged. “I don’t really see it being an issue. If he’s fair I don’t think it’ll make a difference either way.”

 

Another reporter stood up. “Mr. Unwin, your playing style has been compared several times to the style of Mr. Hart, before his injury. Can you tell us if you agree, and if so, has Harry Hart been an inspiration of yours?”

 

Harry tilted his head. He wouldn’t have bet money on it, but for a second it looked like Unwin’s mouth had tightened somewhat.

 

“Yeah I’ve heard the comparison.” He looked at the girl for some reason. “And I mean…I’m flattered, the bloke was bloody good, back in his prime. But I think there are still some differences, yeah? I mean for one thing, some of us have to learn in our back gardens. Not everyone has the luxury of getting trained up proper at Cambridge or whatever.”

 

Harry bristled at that, but mostly because of the Cambridge comment. He was an Oxford man, through and through.

 

Unwin wasn’t done. “It used to be that only people who could afford to be a professional had the chance to play for the big teams. Depending on who they knew from public school and all that. Seems like you could walk into a cocktail party and walk out with a football jersey, all because you shook the right hands. I’m not saying they don’t turn out some cracking good players in public school. I’m playing with a lot of them now. But walk past any park in the east end and you’ll see how many kids are playing football there. And it don’t matter if the balls are deflated or the goalposts are rusty…they just love the game. You asked me about my football inspiration? They’re my inspiration. Not the players with silver spoons up their asses.”

 

Harry had heard enough. From everyone at the table. He lifted the remote and switched the TV off.

 

Well. He’d wanted a sense of the captains’ attitudes and he’d gotten one. The girl would be fine to work with, he was sure. Despite a definite cheeky side, and handling a barrage of positively inane questions, she’d shown a great deal of respect for the system. He’d be shocked if she were the type to display a temper on the field. Unwin on the other hand…

 

Where the hell had he pulled that impassioned speech from? It was only tangentially related to the original question at best. How long had he been carrying this particular chip on his shoulder?

 

The lad was an absolute natural, no question about it. And yes, of course Harry kept up with how his old team was doing.

 

But natural ability could only take you so far. The lad had a lot to learn about procedure. There was a certain way things were _done_.

 

And Harry wasn’t looking forward to being the one to send the message through that atrocious yellow cap.

 

***

 

Eggsy walked into his loft, shucked off his hoodie, and immediately sunk into the nearest leather couch with an audible _oof_ , closing his eyes. It was only six o’clock. But two hours with that lot of reporters felt like a bloody all-nighter. Nothing did Eggsy in faster than playing a round of ‘media darling.’

 

The responsibility was exhausting. Thinking of his answers, making sure he didn’t say something idiotic that the press would pounce on, giving his own team a good show while being respectful of the others, take the game seriously but also be funny enough to not come off as some tosser that he wasn’t…

 

That could be the trouble with joking around sometimes. Eggsy couldn’t get away with it as much. All it took was one moment of levity and the media would turn on him and he’d come off in the papers as some glib wanker, all because he was staying true to his roots. Charlie Hesketh of Sussex and Roxy Morton of Kent could get away with anything, in their blazers and clipped consonants. They could be photographed coming out of some club, vomiting over their Oxfords, and it would be ‘eccentric.’ If Eggsy did it he was just a hoodlum who didn’t deserve the shot he’d been given.

 

At least Eggsy didn’t have to worry about Roxy anymore in the press conferences. When she’d first joined he’d played up his media persona a little bit, to give a bit of break. The more he acted up, the more seriously they’d take her. Not that Roxy _needed_ help. But he couldn’t resist giving her the occasional leg-up when he could.

 

Roxy would throttle him if she knew Eggsy had tried to ‘protect’ her back when she’d first joined the team. He supposed he still _did_ to a certain extent. Just definitely not as much. One less thing and all that.

 

Eggsy sighed as he managed to pull himself out of his couch. He made his away across his bachelor pad to the mini fridge he kept in the kitchen, which stocked his favourite stout. He pulled one out and popped off the top, taking in a long swallow. Fuck, that felt good, the ale sluicing over the back of his media-weary throat. He reached into the fridge to grab another, even though his first wasn’t even done. He brought both back over to the couch, and flipped open his razor-thin laptop that ran faster than his entire team. It was the nicest piece of tech Eggsy had ever owned, and he was including the surround speaker system in his loft, for which Eggsy hadn’t even figure out half the buttons and dials yet.

 

He cast an eye around his place. When he was a kid he never imagined living anywhere so posh, let alone earning enough to buy a place for his mum and baby sister in the same building. That was professional sports for you. Sometimes the inflated salaries made Eggsy feel sick to imagine. But hey, he’d worked hard. He deserved some nice things, like the flat’s walk-in shower, the snazzy electric guitar propped up in the corner, not to mention the view of London and its twinkling evening lights that he got from the loft’s panorama windows.

 

The place was baller beyond belief. But sometimes…Eggsy caught himself missing their old dingy flat a bit. Not the one he’d grown up in, the one his mom’s old boyfriend had owned (good riddance to bad rubbish).

 

No, Eggsy missed the _first_ flat he’d lived in. He didn’t remember it much. But he remembered his mum’s laughter, and a pair of strong arms swinging him up in the living room, and gently holding him upright out in an overgrown back garden, as Eggsy took his first tottering kicks of a football.

 

Jesus, how in the hell was Eggsy actually complaining? He loved his flat, he really did. He just didn’t understand how it sometimes felt a little empty is all, despite all the gadgets it housed.

 

Enough maudlin introspection for one evening. After a day of practice and press-conferences, Eggsy needed to turn his brain off. He clicked on his Youtube bookmark with the aim to browse, listen to some tunes, watch some interviews. Maybe switch over to Netflix later.

 

But he found his fingers typing his nightly search routine before he could even help himself: _Harry Hart 1985 playoffs goal._

 

Youtube automatically finished the search for him and he sighed in resignation, thinking back to that one reporter’s question.

 

_Has Harry Hart been an inspiration of yours?_

Eggsy smiled wryly, clicking the first video. If only he knew.

 

But what was he supposed to say? _I look up Harry Hart football videos every night. I have a Hart #9 jersey stashed in my closet somewhere from when I was a kid. Harry Hart is the entire reason I wanted to go pro in the first place_.

 

Not bloody likely. Harry Hart may have been Eggsy’s _biggest_ football inspiration. But it began and ended with football. It didn’t matter that Eggsy had looked up to his _playing_ more than anyone over the years. Hart was still a rich tosser who represented everything Eggsy hated about pro sports, with its nepotism, glad-handing, and the way athletics seemed to belong in pockets now, the deeper the better.

 

Eggsy had a reputation to keep. Roxy might have been the first woman on the team, but Eggsy was its first chav that had worked his way up to captain. There were little kids in the projects who looked up to him. If he admitted the one _he_ looked up to was the Kingmen’s poshest, most uptight player in history, then he’d lose all credibility.

 

Okay…so maybe Eggsy was overthinking it a little. But he hadn’t climbed bloody mountains to become one of England’s best and most respected footballers by _under_ thinking.

 

With the video loaded, Eggsy sat back to watch. And there came Harry, sprinting onto the screen, dribbling the ball so fast between his ankles Eggsy could barely see it. It was just a black-and-white checked blur.

 

Eggsy’s feet twitched instinctively.

 

Harry’s face was deep in concentration as he stared determinedly ahead, not even glancing down at his whirling feet at all.

 

And this move, this move right here, Eggsy _loved_. One of the players from the other team was swooping up Harry’s left flank. It didn’t even look like Harry had _seen_ him, but he pulled the ball back with one foot, kicked it up _behind_ his own back, and twisted gracefully to catch it on the other foot, continuing his sprint without even breaking expression.

 

Fuck, fuck _fuck_ , the amount of times Eggsy had tried to practice that glorious trick, never _quite_ getting it. But even if he never got the hang of _doing_ it, he would still never get tired of _watching_ it.

 

And there went Harry, on a straight breakaway, no need for foot acrobatics anymore, kicking the ball out in front of him for longer stretches as he advanced towards the goalie, who was posed to spring. Harry pulled his foot back to shoot.

 

But there came the other side’s defense, _just_ as Harry sent his foot flying forward, the ball sailing towards the net. The defense blocked it easily, punting it back forwards again.

 

But did that stop Harry? Not even remotely. As though he’d bloody _planned_ to be blocked by the defense, Harry pirouetted his entire body into an actual fucking _flip_. An honest to god sideways flip, waist twisting elegantly, legs spinning in tandem, as Harry caught the rebound on his cleat with a _smack_ that echoed in Eggsy’s speakers, as the ball rocketed past the defense, past the goalie, and into the net. And there went the buzzer, one-nil for the Kingsmen.

 

Eggsy let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Bloody hell if that wasn’t one of the best goals the world of football had ever seen.

 

But Eggsy’s favourite part was still coming up. Once the pile of Kingsmen who had tackled Harry to the ground in jubilation finally stood up, Harry appeared again, disheveled, rumpled, cheeks ruddy, eyes bright, and a smile that was brighter than the scoreboard displaying the win he’d just procured.

 

The man normally had the same stoic reaction to all his goals, but here it was like a different person, his entire face shining as he grinned widely at his teammates.

 

Eggsy suddenly felt his chest tighten. He felt a little guilty for whatever defensive drivel he’d said against Hart in the pressroom. He was a posh privileged footballer, but he was still a _footballer_. And an alumnae of Eggsy’s team no less.

 

He paused the video, and it froze right on Hart’s face, still mid-laugh at either something a teammate had said, or just from the pure joy of the game. Eggsy could relate.

 

Christ, he was going to be playing in front of basically his biggest hero in a week. This was going to be an absolute fucking nightmare. And Harry would be the ref, so it’s not as thought Eggsy could pretend he wasn’t _there_.

 

The only thing for it was to keep cool. Not let on to Hart that the man was one of his idols, or anything so childishly enthusiastic as that. It would make things a damned sight easier in the long run if he actively disparaged him. Then if Eggsy managed to cock everything up in the final matches…he’d be disappointed with himself. But at least he wouldn’t have Hart’s disappointment as well.

 

Eggsy reached forward and popped open his second bottle of stout. He brought it to his lips, remembered that they had another early practice tomorrow, sighed, and put it back down again, picked up his open laptop, and made his way to his white-carpeted bedroom. He propped the laptop up on his smooth, black beside table, fingers going to the zipper of his hoodie, the glowing screen his only source of light in the dark room. He stripped himself of his sweaty clothes, and slid under the covers, blankets rustling coolly against his naked skin. There were some players who could get up at four after a late night, but Eggsy had never been one of them, and especially not with a team to co-run. In bed by seven pm. Eggsy snorted to himself. The glamorous life of a sports celebrity indeed.

 

And rolling over, he reached out towards his laptop, screen still fixed on Hart’s beaming face, and snapped it shut.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Eggsy could hear the roar of the crowd as he paced nervously. He _always_ got like this before a match. Once he ran out onto the pitch, he knew his preoccupations would be blasted away the moment the cheers hit him. But ‘backstage’? Standing with his team in the stadium’s holding area before they were going to run out? This was right around the time Eggsy wanted to throw up, thank you very much.

 

“Eggs, come on, huddle,” Roxy barked at him. He twitched and she gave him a slightly more sympathetic look. “Come on, huddle up, yeah?”

 

 _Okay deep breaths, deep breaths_ , thought Eggsy, taking one. He jumped up and down in place a few times, and then bounded over to their team. Here in this moment, things like what universities they had gone to – or hadn’t gone to - were irrelevant. They were a team and Eggsy was their captain, and he couldn’t go to bits because of a case of _nerves_.

 

“Alright lads and lady, listen up,” Eggsy said. “Got a couple things to say, but first: uniform check.” Before they could all whine, Eggsy held up his hands. “I know I know, you all look fine. In fact, you look bloody hot today, Digby, did you shower for once? But we’ve got a new ref and I’m not taking any chances on penalties because someone’s shinpads aren’t properly fastened.”

 

Eggsy could see Merlin from out of the corner of his eye, staring at his clipboard but nodding at his words. Merlin never got involved with captain pep-talks before the show. In fact he never spoke to his players much before matches at all, preferring they do their bonding as a team without the authority of the couch hanging about. But today he was with them.

 

Everyone adjusted their blue-and-red-striped socks over their shinpads, and fidgeted with their royal blue uniforms making sure everything was in order while Eggsy and Roxy cast eagle-eyes over them. Once they were satisfied they wouldn’t get called out on a stray earring or an undone shoelace, they brought it back in.

 

“Alright lads. You’ve all been playing bloody hard for the whole playoffs, but this is the quarter-finals. I’m not surprised we’re here because you’re all fucking aces in my book. But no messing about, yeah? Here’s where we take them by storm,” Eggsy grinned at his teammates, nodding to Roxy to continue.

 

“Just remember your plays, run fast, and for heaven’s sake, _watch_ each other,” Roxy said, flipping her ponytail over a shiny, royal blue shoulder. “I want everyone to know where everyone is at all times. Be watching, be ready, and let’s take them down as a team alright?”

 

The team murmured their assent, all with the same adrenaline going through their veins. They were shuffling and bouncing in place, a hive of energy that was about to be unleashed once they stormed onto the pitch.

 

“Merlin, is it about that time?” Eggsy called out to their coach. Merlin nodded and strode over.

 

“Proud of you lot, let’s go have a good game,” said Merlin, extending a hand. “Eggsy would you do the honors?”

 

“You’re the guv’na,” Eggsy grinned. He placed his hand on top of Merlin’s, and Roxy and the rest of the team followed suit.

 

“King _wot_?” he shouted.

 

“ _Kings-men_!” the team called back.

 

“King _WOT_?”

 

“ _KINGS-MEN_!”

 

“ _Goooooo KINGSMEN_!”

 

The team whooped and cheered and began stampeding out onto the pitch to meet the crowd, who met their entrance with a deafening roar and stamping feet. Eggsy and Roxy led the way, feet pounding, waving up at the crowds. Half were flying the Kingsmen’s royal blue and red, the other half was a dark red for the Chester Crimsons, their opponents. Eggsy looked up at the shining, sun-dappled sea of blue and red, catching sight of himself on the stadium’s big screen. He broke out into a wide smile and gave a salute, a fifty-foot-high Eggsy doing the same on the screen. The crowd screamed their approval.

 

He jogged to catch up with Rox, giving her back a pat. She grinned at him, and while the media had once described her as having a ‘million dollar smile’, here it just looked vicious, like she was about to eat the other team alive. Eggsy loved it.

 

They made their way over to the center of the field, and two crimson-clad figures from the other team did the same, as the captains all prepared for the coin flip. And waiting for them, in a crisp black referee’s uniform was Harry Hart. He caught Eggsy’s gaze, and Eggsy swallowed down a fresh set of nerves, as he continued to walk forward.

 

 _He might be a football star, he might have been on posters in your old bedroom, but today he’s just like any other bloody ref, so just play how you’d play in any other match and get it together, Unwin,_ he admonished himself. So he propped his chin up, turned his walk into a strut, and sent Hart a cheeky grin, followed by a wink.

 

What? He did it to every other ref he’d had. The Unwin charm was practically expected of him at this point.

 

Hart’s eyes narrowed somewhat, but Eggsy promptly stuck out his hand, and Hart reached out to clasp it, civilly enough. He shook Roxy’s hand too, and stood back while the captains did the same to each other.

 

“I want a fair game, all of you, is that clear?” Hart asked, looking around at the captains. Even with the thunderous noise around them, his voice cut through it all, crisp and clear as a whip. They all nodded.

 

“Miss Morton and Mr. Unwin have home-pitch advantage, and will be calling the coin toss,” he said briskly, removing a shilling from the pockets of his black, pressed shorts. Eggsy’s gaze followed the crease down to just above his knee to…

 

…the twisted, gnarled scar that stood out in a mottled red against Harry’s pale kneecap. So that was it. The injury that had cut Harry Hart’s career short, right there in the scarred-up flesh. He’d seen videos of the incident of course, so had the rest of the western hemisphere. He just hadn’t actually seen any photos of the after-effects. He barely repressed a shudder.

 

“Mr. Unwin?”

 

Eggsy’s gaze snapped back up guiltily. Hart’s face looked neutral enough, but he probably figured Eggsy had been looking at his injury in revulsion, rather than the sympathy Eggsy had actually been feeling. He’d almost gotten his knee and his career cut in half as well. It was every player’s nightmare.

 

But he was here, all in one piece, and everyone was looking at him to call it. He squared his shoulders.

 

“Heads.”

 

Hart flicked the shilling up in the air, catching it nimbly on his palm. He slapped it onto the back of his other hand, and lifted his hand to reveal Queen Victoria’s shiny profile.

 

“Heads it is. Ball to the Kingsmen,” Hart said.

 

They filed out, and Charlie bounded up to the center to take the ball, as their center forward. Roxy fell to his left, and Eggsy took his place on the right. Same position Hart had played, back in the 80s. Eggsy wondered if he missed it.

 

Eggsy couldn’t resist sneaking another look at the former football hero. But when he looked up, Hart’s eyes were already locked on his, as he gazed at Eggsy impassively.

 

And then a silver whistle was between the man’s lips, and a piercing tweet rang out, and Eggsy let all other thoughts but the ball and his team shuttle out, because the game, as they say, was _on_.

 

 

***

 

Harry sprinted along the sidelines, tracking the teams as they fought tooth-and-nail for possession of the ball. The thing about football was that everyone underestimated just how much bloody _running_ was involved. While of course it was necessary to have a number of tricks up your sleeve for when you actually _got_ the ball, as a football player, the vast majority of any game is spent running full-tilt up and down the pitch in pursuit of the ball. You might reach one end of the pitch as you followed the ball, lungs burnings, leg muscles straining, only to see it punted back in the direction from which you’d just sprinted, and then you had to jolly well haul yourself back, didn’t you? Harry still kept himself in good shape but _Christ_ he’d forgotten the constant effort needed, and he was the one observing, not using every fiber of his being to chase and capture the ball.

 

And that’s what both these teams were doing: giving off a heady, frenzied energy, as they scrambled madly down the pitch. It looked like they were all just running amok, but only a player could tell how strictly regimented their plays were. No positioning on the field was ever random, and they moved with a militant strategy, especially the Kingsmen. The Kingsmen ‘Big Three’ – what the media had nicknamed Roxy, Charlie, and Eggsy – were a seamless triumvirate of dribbling, passing, and scoring. It looked like they were barely taking notice of each other, but Harry knew each forward knew exactly where the other two were at all times. You never pay your two arms any conscious attention, but you don’t have to when they’re a part of you.

 

For all their streamlined maneuvering, there were still one or two brush-ups. Things always get tenser after halftime, everyone playing with more desperation than they had before, when thing were down to the wire. And that’s when things got messy. At one point there was a collision on the Crimson’s side, and Charlie, who’d been trying to get past their midfielders, went down in a heap, clutching his leg in what was apparently a fit of agony.

 

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he blew the whistle. He walked over calmly, past the teams that were shouting at each other.

 

“No foul,” he said placidly, for there hadn’t been one. Charlie had merely lost balance in the scuffle, but he certainly wasn’t the only player who tried to use a tumble to his advantage.

 

“It’s all right,” Charlie gasped theatrically. “I can manage.” He got to his feet, slow enough to give the pause some legitimacy, and ‘tested’ his foot, nodding bravely. Harry had to give him some credit. He’d done a drama elective in college that was full of theatre students, and this young man had outdone them all.

 

“An admirable effort, Mr. Hesketh,” said Harry, and before Charlie could work out if he was being made fun of or not, Harry blew the whistle again and the game continued.

 

The Kingsmen were in the lead by one goal but there was still time for the Crimsons to catch up. This was lacing their playing with a lot more depesrate brutishness, and it was only a matter of time before someone went down for real. That someone turned out to be Unwin.

 

Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen someone bodychecked so hard. Now _that_ was as blatant a foul as you could possibly get. Unwin was actually airborne for a few seconds when the other team’s forward _slammed_ into him in an effort to get the ball. Unwin went sailing, landing _hard_ on the ground, a few feet from where he’d started.

 

Harry braced himself for more football theatrics. But rather than gripping his ankle and rolling on the floor in a show of unbearable pain, Eggsy simply absorbed the fall, rolled once, and was springing up to his feet as quickly as he’d gone down, never breaking his movement for a second. He almost looked like he was grinning, adrenaline coursing through him, as he cheerfully told the offending forward what he could do with that shite aim.

 

“Oh for heavens… _you_ , yellow card,” he said to the overly-rough forward. “ _You_ , keep those comments in line or you’ll be seeing one of these yourself,” he said to Eggsy, nodding to the yellow card between his fingers.

 

“Sir yes sir,” the lad said brightly enough, and now Harry really _did_ roll his eyes.

 

“Resume play,” Harry called, blowing his whistle, and bracing himself for the final ten minutes of the quarter-finals and whatever that was going to bring.

 

***

“Yes yes yes yes YES!” Eggsy hollered, running full-tilt at Rox, who was doing the same to him. She burst out laughing from the sheer joy on Eggsy’s face at another perfect ‘Morton-Unwin goal’, and threw herself at him. They collided right as the final whistle blew, and fell in a tangled, laughing heap to the floor, where they rolled around like puppies. The rest of the team was quick to join the pile, all yelling their exuberance at moving up in the quarter-finals.

 

Merlin walked over, applauding his team that was currently involved in an eleven-way headlock as they all wrestled each other in their glee, smacking each other heartily on the backs. Eggsy worked his way out from the bottom of the pile where he popped to his feet and launched himself at Merlin, dragging the man’s head down so he could deliver a theatrical smooch to his coach’s forehead.

 

“Alright, get away with you,” Merlin grumbled, but he was beaming broadly and tousled Eggsy’s hair. “Nice goal…and well done to Roxy, of course,” he said, as the player in question maneuvered her way out of the pile, grinning at Merlin, who cleared his throat, and set off to shake the hands of his players, who would all fling his hand to the side in favor of tackling him exuberantly.

 

Eggsy bounded over to Roxy again, smacking her back.  “Semi-finals here we _come_!” he hollered. “Good _girl_ , Rox.”

 

“Thanks, yeah,” she said, her face alight. However, a frown quickly marred it. “But I almost fumbled the pass, Christ, did you see that? When I kicked it to you after getting it out of their defense, I practically _missed_.”

 

“Rox, you were nowhere near missing,” Eggsy snorted, clapping her on the shoulder. “It was brilliant, and if you don’t believe me, ask Merlin. I haven’t seen him get so googly-eyed since the History Channel was doing a special on Scottish architecture.”

 

Eggsy couldn’t tell if she was blushing or if her face was still flushed from sprinting. But she punched his shoulder casually enough, while Eggsy did his best not to cackle. Because he was _pretty_ sure his best mate very possibly had a tiny crush on their coach, and it was very possibly reciprocated. But given that Rox hadn’t mentioned anything, Eggsy wasn’t about to tease it out of her. He was a little shit but not _that_ much of a little shit. He wouldn’t blame her for not saying anything. One of the only girls in the league? If he had a crush on his coach he wouldn’t tell a soul either, not even his best mate.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Eggsy registered the Chester Crimsons moving dejectedly away from the field, their faces brave but walking with a downbeat air that stood out in contrast to the shrieking pile of Kingsmen who were still celebrating in a heap on the field. Losing a match really _really_ sucked, and Eggsy wasn’t sure the public realized just how much. When you’ve been playing that hard for that long, you’re well out of energy by the end of the match. And when you add a loss on top of that, it feels like adding insult to injury.

 

Eggsy put two fingers in his mouth and blew a loud whistle to his own team, waving them up off the turf. He grabbed Roxy’s hand so they could jog over to the Crimson captains, the rest of the team falling into line behind them. Eggsy shook the captains’ hands, clapping them on the shoulders, saying things like “Brilliant job, mate,” and “Next time, yeah?” The teams made their way past each other, two shades of jerseys weaving about like DNA strands, two shuffling strings of sportsmanship congratulating and consoling the other.

 

When they reached the end of the line, Eggsy delivering a final pat to the back of the Crimson’s goalie, he turned to look at Roxy, who nodded towards the news cameras that were swinging back around to them.

 

“Go on then,” she said. “I know you want to.”

 

“God, Rox,” he groaned. “It was _one_ time in my first year, and it was only because I got blood on my jersey when the ball hit my nose. Now everyone expects it to be tradition.”

 

“You’re keeping your public waiting, Eggs,” she smirked.

 

Eggsy rolled his eyes. Turning around to face the cameras, he gave them a dazzling smile and a wink. And gripping the bottom of his jersey, he pulled his shirt up and over his head, whipping it around in the air like the blades of a helicopter, six-pack on display for the good folks watching at home, and the crowd went wild.

 

Roxy burst out laughing at shirtless Egssy who blew a kiss to the crowd, flipping her off behind his back where the cameras couldn’t catch it.

 

God, she made him do this every time, after that one shirt-removing incident, which he couldn’t really complain about since it had launched a thousand endorsements. But he was nothing if not a good sport, so he dropped the shirt to the grass and flexed exaggeratedly, doing a twirl for the camera.

 

And when he spun around he suddenly spotted a tall figure in black looking like a pillar of onyx, and every bit as impassive. Harry Hart tracking his every move. Apart from the general, automatic registering of a ref’s calls that came to Eggsy as naturally as breathing, Eggsy had managed to actually ignore the man for most of the game, not giving a whit about his reactions to Eggsy’s playing.

 

But now he was getting Hart’s reactions to his antics. And the outcome? Eggsy might have been imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw a flash of disapproval, before Hart turned away and went to go shake hands with the coaches.

 

 _Tosser_ , Eggsy thought. And pushing the sinking feeling in his stomach aside, he strutted over to the first row of the stadium, still shirtless, to give high-fives to the fans. Fuck Hart. At least _some_ people appreciated him.

 

***

 

Harry knocked twice on one of the thick oaken doors inside the clubhouse that functioned as the UK Kingsmen Headquarters. The old building was adjacent to the sports stadium, and while the clubhouse had undergone some renovations, it was still the same, posh, traditionally decorated clubhouse from Harry’s day. It felt like a time warp walking back into the familiar building with all its polished mahogany and plush leather furniture.

 

He’d changed out of his referee gear by now, but still felt slightly sweaty underneath his suit jacket, from having been running about under the hot sun. Even if he wasn’t the one playing, he’d forgotten how _good_ it felt to be back on the pitch. Even as the match’s resident killjoy.

 

But now he could afford to drop the regimental veneer, so when the voice inside the office said ‘Come in,’ Harry strode in, telling the man behind the desk: “Ten years of coaching for the League, winner of two championships, and they couldn’t find you a better office than this hole?”

 

Merlin stood up, walking around the desk while saying: “Ten years and you couldn’t at least get a new bloody suit to see me?”

 

The two friends met in the middle of the office floor and shared a warm embrace, Merlin giving Harry’s tie a quick tug afterwards in a way that seemed practically playful for the typically deadpan coach. They’d spoken briefly when Harry had stopped by the stadium the other week to pick up Merlin’s team-registration for the quarter-finals, but it hadn’t really given them enough time to catch up. They’d unquestionably kept in touch, but between Harry’s career getting slower after retirement and Merlin’s coaching picking up at the speed of light, it didn’t leave a lot of middle ground. And while they might meet at a pub now and again, this was the first time Harry had been back to his former clubhouse in years.

 

“This is your official post-game regroup with the referee,” Harry said in a mock-serious voice.

 

“Ah yes, and what is the referee’s official verdict on the team’s conduct?” Merlin asked.

 

“Well not that I’m supposed to root for anyone, but…bloody good job,” Harry grinned, and Merlin snorted. He offered Harry a seat in front of his desk, and settled into the matching armchair next to it.

 

“I know I already said congratulations after the match, but I can’t help feeling like it loses some meaning with TV cameras in your face. But I mean it, congratulations,” Harry said to Merlin. “They’re very good, aren’t they? These new Kingsmen. Not that I’m at all surprised with you coaching them.”

 

“Yeah, they’ll do, I suppose,” Merlin said smiling slightly.

 

“Although,” Harry frowned. “I must say, that forward of yours is a bit of a handful, isn’t he?”

 

“Hmm?” Merlin’s brow furrowed, and then smoothed out. “Oh yeah, Charlie can be a bit of a wanker, but I feel like one almost _has_ to be a wanker if they’re going to be center forward. Have you ever met one who wasn’t? Something about it feels mandatory. He’s bloody good at the position though.”

 

“No no, not your center. On the right. Unwin,” Harry said, making an active effort to not roll his eyes as he said the name.

 

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Eggsy_? ”

 

“Yes, that one. Utterly exhausting, no?” Harry answered. “Not to mention this ridiculousness,” he said, pulling the jersey the lad had forgotten on the pitch, after his celebratory post-match shirtless frenzy. “Shirt-whipping? Honest to god, some of these cover boy athletes. Boggles the mind.”

 

To his surprise, Merlin laughed as he took the shirt from Harry, placing it on his desk. “You’re off your block. Eggsy’s the opposite of a problem. One of my best players.”

 

“I’m not saying the lad’s not talented,” Harry protested. “I was there on the field watching, thank you very much. But how many more of these media starlets are we expected to endure in football? He seems like a right pain in the arse.”

 

“Oh he is,” Merlin agreed cheerfully, sounding not at all put-out about it. “Good lad.”

 

“Is that so,” Harry asked, lifting an eyebrow. Not that he didn’t trust Merlin’s judgment, he just wasn’t expecting the man to sound quite so enthusiastic about a player whom he’d personally deemed insufferable and an example of everything he found intolerable about celebrity sports’ culture.

 

“Harry,” Merlin said gently. “You’ve reffed him in one hour-and-a-half game. I’ve been his coach for four years. Trust me, Eggsy’s one of the good ones.”

 

Harry gave a noncommittal hum, and caught Merlin concealing a smile.

 

“What?” he bristled.

 

“No it’s just,” Merlin rubbed his jaw, still looking like he was trying not to grin. “He actually reminds me quite a bit of you sometimes.”

 

“I do beg your pardon,” Harry scoffed.

 

“No I mean it,” Merlin said, drumming his long fingers on the arm of his chair, his eyes in the past, sparkling with the mischief that only certain people knew to look for in their typically stoic friend. “Remember in ’83? When we broke into this very place to try and steal the ceremonial cognac when I was made captain? You wanted to celebrate, remember?”

 

“Vaguely,” said Harry drily, remembering the chewing-out they’d gotten from the night caretaker.

 

“Caught Eggsy and Roxy doing the exact same thing a year ago,” Merlin snorted. “The main difference being they actually got the liquor cabinet open.”

 

“Well that’s further than we got,” said Harry, smiling a little.

 

“It was after I made them co-captains,” Merlin said. “I was only there that late because I’d forgotten my laptop. I hear laughing from the lounge and go in to find they’ve managed to pick the lock on the cabinet. And there they are, sitting on the floor, bottle between them, sloshed out of their minds.”

 

“Good lord,” Harry said mildly, despite finding the image quite entertaining.

 

“Eggsy tried to convince me the promotion wasn’t official yet without, and that she needed to be ‘initiated’ via liquor, otherwise the captainship wouldn’t count.”

 

“And did it work?” Harry asked.

 

“Course not,” Merlin snorted. “Called them in for practice at four the next morning and made them do suicide-sprints until they threw up.”

 

“I see your reputation hasn’t changed a bit,” Harry grinned genuinely.

 

“I wasn’t _really_ bothered!” Merlin protested. “Thought it was sweet, not that they’re allowed to know that. I was mostly just impressed they managed to get in without tripping security. Pretty sure Eggsy just got one of the caretakers to let them in actually, he’s pretty good mates with all of them. Hung out more with the stadium cleaning crew and security than the actual players when he first joined. Think he felt a bit more comfortable with them. He eased up a lot when Roxy joined.”

 

“And are they…” Harry began to ask, making a noncommittal gesture.

 

“Really, Harry, you’re as bad as the tabloids,” Merlin chided him. “Although I wondered the same thing at first. But no, not a bit. Roxy’s not one to involve her professional and personal life.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a slight hint of wistfulness in the coach’s voice. But it vanished just as quickly when Merlin added: “Anyways. All this to say, you’d like Eggsy if you knew him. I’m sure of it.”

 

“Well I won’t really get the chance, will I? Given that ‘a referee must not give any preferential treatment to specific teams or players’,” he loosely quoted from his handbook.

 

“Oh, and is that why we’re in here chinwagging?” Merlin asked.

 

“This is the official post-game debriefing,” Harry protested.

 

“If you say so, mate,” Merlin snorted. He reached out to clap Harry on the shoulder. “It’s good seeing you.”

 

Taking that as his cue that Merlin needed to get work done, Harry rose to his feet. “I suppose you’ll be in full preparation for the first round of the semi-finals? I hope it goes well, if I don’t see you before then.”

 

“Thank you,” Merlin said. “Oh I don’t suppose you could do me a favor?” He reached towards his desk and held Eggsy’s jersey back out to Harry. “Would you mind dropping this off at reception for me when you go out? Eggsy’s left enough of those things lying around, he’ll know to come get it there later.”

 

“Of course not,” Harry said, putting on his gloves and taking the shiny royal blue shirt, with the number 10 embossed in red on the back. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said as Merlin walked him to the door.

 

“Cheers, Hart,” Merlin replied, eyes crinkling, holding the door open for him.

 

Harry made his way down the winding main staircase of the clubhouse towards the lobby, jersey clutched loosely in his hand, as he gazed around the shining walls of the building, with their brass gas-lamps screwed in every few feet. This clubhouse had served as headquarters for the Kingsmen ever since the 1800s and there was all manner of antique décor in here. But Harry’s eyes were mostly on all the old photographs that adorned the wall. Starting with faded black-and-white team shots of long-dead football players in vintage uniforms. Harry’s eyes scanned past them as the uniforms gradually got more modern, and colour began to hit the photographs. And there in the eighties…a familiar looking bunch.

 

Harry smiled to see his old team. He gazed at the faces of the players with whom he’d spent some of the best yeas of his life. There was Percy, uniform looking crisp as ever. There was Gareth who never stopped lifting weights the entire time Harry had known him, with his muscles fairly popping out of his jersey. There was Arthur, one of the coaches from Harry’s day, now the president of the Premier League. Harry would have to pay him a visit soon. And there, crouched in the middle was Merlin, sporting his captain’s badge. Harry grinned when he saw it. It had been well-deserved. Many people had expected Harry to get it, given that he’d been their most star player. But no one in their right mind would have made him captain. Despite the strict reputation he’d garnered – and quite a lot of it deserved – he was still too impulsive, too stubborn, too impatient, and too unwilling to play along with the media. Plus he was often late to practice, something Merlin had had to chide him about more than once.

 

And there, directly behind Merlin…was Harry himself. The Harry not in the photograph squinted at the blurry two-dimensional version of himself. Christ, did he really look that serious? Harry usually actively avoided any and all photos or videos of himself, but he peered at this one, and frowned in concentration. Playing for the Kingsmen had been the time of his life, so why did he look so stern? No wonder he had a reputation for being a stick-in-the-mud if that’s how he typically looked.

 

Tearing himself away from his old life, resized now to fit into a square frame, Harry continued down the staircase, picking out some voices that were floating up at him.

 

“Come on, Sheila, I know you’ve got it” a man’s voice said playfully.

 

There was the sound of a girl laughing. “I’d tell you if I did.”

 

“You nicked it, didn’t you. You plan on sleeping with it every night. I don’t blame you, luv, I’m sure it smells phenomenal.”

 

“No one’s returned it, you moron, honestly,” the girl said gently.

 

An exaggerated sigh. “It’s to be expected. Someone probably grabbed it after the match and has now got it tucked under their pillow. No one can resist getting their hands on a bit of Eau de Unwin.”

 

The voices cut off abruptly as both the clubhouse’s secretary and Eggsy Unwin looked up, eyes wide, to see Harry Hart on the bottom step, umbrella in one hand, and Eggsy’s blue, still-sweaty jersey in the other, and the makings of a furious blush creeping up his neck that put the scarlet-hued number on the jersey to shame.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, extending the damp jersey as formally as one can extend a damp jersey.

 

“Wot you doing with that?” asked the lad, sounding as shocked as he looked. This was so much worse than overhearing him after that practice, so _so_ much worse, but Harry remained composed and attempted to defuse the situation.

 

“Well I thought it would make a nice pillowcase, but it rather clashed with my duvet,” Harry said drily, and Unwin’s eyes fairly popped out of his head. Oh well done, Hart. Excellent defusing.

 

“You left it on the field. Merlin asked me to bring it here, but I see you’ve arrived first,” said Harry, keeping his voice neutrally bored.

 

“Right, well…thanks yeah?” muttered Unwin, looking embarrassed as he took the jersey from Harry, although he didn’t break eye contact.

 

“My pleasure. Good afternoon, madam,” he said, nodding at the club’s secretary, and he turned on his heel and headed towards the door. He was just making his way down the stone steps of the old colonial-style building, when he heard the main doors clanking open behind him.

 

“Oi!” said the boy.

 

“Mr. Unwin,” Harry replied, turning around again.

 

Eggsy stood there on the top step, hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized hoodie, the crumpled-up jersey poking out of one of them. He looked supremely uncomfortable and seemed to be working up to something. He appeared ready to bolt but nonetheless held his gaze with Harry.

 

“I feel like we might’a got off on the wrong foot,” he said quietly.

 

Harry was astonished, and opened his mouth to say…well who knew. But Eggsy wasn’t done.

 

“Look I just…it’s not like we have to be mates or nuffink but…well you’re new here. I mean not _new_ new, you’ve been here before an’ all, so I guess technically you’re less new than me,” he added, frowning. “But you’re still new to _this_ set of games, and you’re coming in out of nowhere…okay maybe not nowhere, I don’t actually know where you live but I bet it’s nice, so sorry for calling it nowhere. But the point is, I feel like I was a jerk to you and just wanted to say…sorry. And I was 'oping we could maybe just…start over, and I could buy you a drink or summat.”

 

Harry stared at the player for a long time. Out on the field he’d appeared every inch an athletic machine, determination written across his face as he moved like every pounding of his feet was a life-or-death mission, but still somehow retaining a pure sense of exuberance, and emanating liveliness in everything he did. Whether he courted it or not, it was no wonder the cameras fairly flocked to him.

 

Here, swamped in comfortable clothing as he stood apprehensively on the steps, he looked a little younger, a little softer. There was still a certain kind of energy that almost seemed to spark off of him. But rather than overwhelming and exhausting the viewer, it seemed to be almost invitational instead. Drawing in, rather than pushing back.

 

Harry finally shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

 

Eggsy’s face went carefully blank. “Right. Course.”

 

“Fraternization rule number twenty-six states that a referee must not accept gifts from any player or coach, that has a monetary value listed in the economic outline of the calendar year, so I’m sorry but no, you can’t buy me a pint,” Harry explained.

 

“Right right,” Eggsy muttered. “I get it.” He hunched his shoulders, looking away from Harry, and turned to walk back into the clubhouse.

 

“Eggsy,” Harry called out, and the lad turned around with perhaps a bit of surprise at hearing his nickname come from Harry’s lips. It had surprised Harry too.

 

Harry didn’t know why his mouth had suddenly gone dry, but he lifted his chin decisively.

 

“However, if I buy my own drink, then I don’t see any reason why not.”

 

***

 

Eggsy twiddled a coaster around with one finger, trying desperately to force his pulse back down to something at least _resembling_ normal. Bloody hell, it was going faster than when he’d been sprinting up and down the field just a few hours before.

 

 _You’ve been to this pub a million and half times before, just calm the hell down already_ , he thought to himself, looking desperately at the bartender to check the status of their drinks. Because it was true, he _had_ been to this pub many times in the past. But never with Harry bloody Hart sitting across from him.

 

He snuck a glance at the man, who seemed absorbed in the black menu on the wall beside them, with its looping gold script. He looked about as out-of-place here as a martini would on a tray of pints. To look at him you’d never think the same man had just been running alongside a group of footballers early in the day, breathing and sweating just as heavily as the lot of them. He looked like all he’d come from was an appointment with the bank, or possibly watching a polo match.

 

It had been surreal to see Harry _Hart_ clutching his jersey, when Eggsy had had the man’s own football shirt when he was a kid. Running about with #9 on his back, pretending he was Harry Hart, England’s star forward. And now, seeing the man himself holding onto _Eggsy’s_ number – even if just to give it back to him – had hit Eggsy harder than that tosser what had bodychecked him earlier in the game.

 

And now Harry Hart was at his pub, Eggsy’s old _neighborhood_ pub. And how dare he look so composed and casual when this was bar none, _the_ oddest moment of Eggsy’s life.

 

Eggsy couldn’t even say with any certainty why he’d invited the man in the first place. All he knew was that it had given him such a start to see him with his jersey, and that yet another awkward encounter with the man had left him feeling like shit. Okay so maybe Eggsy had somewhat gone off on him in the media a little, but Harry didn’t _know_ that Eggsy watched all his old matches. He didn’t know that Eggsy idolized his playing beyond anything else. He probably thought Eggsy actively hated him, and alright, while Eggsy couldn’t say he cared much for what he’d seen of the man on a personal level, he just didn’t want the man to hand him his jersey and walk out the door thinking that Eggsy didn’t have _any_ regard for him. Ergo, invitation to the pub.

 

Although the longer they sat in silence the more Eggsy was starting to regret this decision. I mean what the hell was he thinking, inviting the man to the Black Prince, the main pub of Eggsy’s old stomping grounds? This was a ridiculous idea. If anything, Hart would probably think _less_ of Eggsy for still frequenting a generic place like this. Eggsy wanted to escape.

 

But there was Steve the bartender bringing over their drinks, the Guinness that Hart had asked for, and a Heineken for Eggsy. Eggsy stopped twirling his coaster so that Steve could set the pints down. Eggsy reached out for his glass, hand closing around the cool surface, fingers rubbing over the droplets of condensation, cooling his overheated palm.

 

“Cheers, yeah?” he offered for lack of anything else to say.

 

“Indeed,” Hart replied, lifting his darker pint to raise his glass at Eggsy slightly, before taking a sip. “Charming place,” he said, licking some of the Guinness’ thick foam off his upper lip.

 

Eggsy wasn’t sure if the man was being sarcastic or what, since while the pub was far from seedy, like some of the others in the area, it was hardly brimming with what Eggsy would call ‘charm’. But Hart seemed sincere enough, as he gazed interestedly around Eggsy’s turf.

 

“Did you grow up around here?” Hart guessed accurately.

 

Eggsy nodded. “Yeah. With me mum and stepdad. Well, ex-stepdad. And my little sister. Used to come here a lot, and still come back from time to time. For a bit of peace and quiet.”

 

There was a sudden clatter of the pool table in the corner, accompanied by indignant shouting and triumphant guffaws from one corner of the room. Hart raised his eyebrows skeptically.

 

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “Okay not _volume_. I don’t know, it’s hard to go out without everyone watching your every move. I mean I’m not complaining or nothing, I love my job. Just sometimes you want a break, you know? And here, since I grew up here, when I stop by everyone just kinda lets me be. Like I’m still a lad from here and all.”

 

Harry nodded like he understood, and perhaps he did. Sports media might have increased ten-fold for athletes of Eggsy’s generation, but Hart was still an icon. He must get mobbed every time he went out. No wonder he had a reputation for being reclusive. Eggsy was a familiar sight here, but he was actually surprised they hadn’t attracted any curious stares, England’s former _and_ current top footballers sharing a pint, and one of them reffing the other in the games of the moment. Which reminded Eggsy of the question that had been tickling the back of his throat in Egssy’s (ridiculously swank) sports car, on the otherwise silent drive to the pub.

 

“Why’d you come out with me?” Eggsy asked, leaning forward.

 

Hart looked surprised. “You extended an invitation. It would have been rude to say no.”

 

“Yeah but…” Eggsy still felt a little in over his head. “I’d have thought you’d have decided it really _was_ against regulations, or as good as.”

 

Hart shrugged those pinstriped shoulders. “There’s always a loophole, Eggsy.”

 

Eggsy took another sip of his beer. “I suppose.”

 

“For example,” Hart said. “Young master Hesketh’s unfortunate tumble.”

 

Eggsy snorted but then sobered up. “Yeah?”

 

“Well technically since he was not injured, and the play in question contained no foul, I could have given him a yellow card, as dictated by rule twenty-seven of Penalties and Fouls, in the guidebook,” Harry explained, adjusting his spectacles. “ _But_ , because he did not persist in any verbal claim of injury, and by his own admittance was capable of playing, he would be exempt from accusations of faking, in accordance with –“

 

“Subsection five,” Eggsy nodded, taking a pull from his glass. “Makes sense.”

 

He thumbed idly at a bead of condensation that was working its way down the glass and looked up at Hart again, who was eyeing Eggsy with an expression he couldn’t identify.

 

“What?” he asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

 

It might have been Eggsy’s imagination, but it almost looked like the corner of Hart’s mouth had turned up a fraction.

 

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you,” the man said. It wasn’t a question.

 

“I can _read_ ,” protested Eggsy.

 

“Yes well, I haven’t come across many players who read the almanac of “International Footballer's Law” if they can help it,” said Hart.

 

“Yeah well they should,” muttered Eggsy. “Drives me mental when teammates can’t be bothered to get a basic grounding in the boring stuff. I mean what’s that about, don’t they want to know their own bloody game better?”

 

“My thoughts exactly, Eggsy,” said Hart, who was now looking openly amused, and eyeing Eggsy with less indifference than he had earlier.

 

“Even _Roxy_ forgets protocol sometimes,” Eggsy exclaimed, on a bit of a roll from what felt almost like ‘approval’ from Harry, ignoring the self-satisfied glow it inspired. “And she’s a complete sucker for ‘regulation’, it’s unreal.”

 

“Oh yes, Miss Morton,” Harry said, nodding with professional admiration. “She’s excellent, isn’t she? Exemplary form.”

 

“Yeah man, she’s aces,” agreed Eggsy, lighting up. “And even though she’s a forward, you know there’s not a _single_ position she can’t do? Even goalie. We use her in nets as a substitute for Nate sometimes in practice. She’ll be putting us all out of business at this rate.”

 

“Impressive for such a dominant forward. She’s even better at shooting than you are,” Harry observed.

 

Eggsy glanced up, but there’d been nothing malicious at all in Harry’s voice. He was just making an observation.

 

“Yeah, she is,” Eggsy said lightly, not sure where Harry was going with it. Was he waiting for Eggsy to pout or throw a tantrum? Well he’d be waiting a very long time. Eggsy didn’t mind the comment, it’s not like it wasn’t true.

 

As though sensing Eggsy’s reservations, Harry looked at him almost apologetically. “I’m merely observing that it’s interesting she seems to pass so many of the shots along to you. After reviewing both your statistics. She takes fewer shots at the net than you do, and yet a higher percentage of hers go in. You have better overall footwork, but she has more power to her kicks.”

 

Trust Harry Hart to notice it. A lot of people assumed that Eggsy – a chap – would have stronger kicks, and that Roxy would gravitate towards the so-called ‘elegant’ nimble dribbling. Not the case. Eggsy made football look like ballet, whereas Roxy’s style was more to charge right into the fray and work her way out with the ball by headstrong force alone. Rox was a fucking _brute_.

 

But it was true. For all the strength behind her kicks, she took fewer of them when it came time to score.

 

“Yeah well,” Eggsy shrugged. “Rox gets performance anxiety sometimes. Not in a big way, but it’s more the pressure of a goal depending on her. She’ll be fine until she gets up to the net, but she’s never liked to have the score riding on her. Not since last year.”

 

Harry knew the match Eggsy was referencing. The Kingsmen were in a different tournament with a minute left to the semi-finals. Roxy had had a breakaway and went charging towards the net, drawing her foot back, ready to shoot...

 

…when her foot had missed the ball _entirely_ , losing the precious few seconds in which she could have scored, and subsequently losing the game. In her first year as the first girl the Kingsmen had ever let play.

 

“Ever since then she’s been a little gun-shy I guess,” Eggsy said, and that was an understatement for how utterly humiliated Roxy had been. She hadn’t come out of the showers in the locker room after, and after the rest of the team had left, Eggsy had made a great show of noisily closing lockers and picking up cleats, to let her know he in no way could hear the intermittent, choked, furious sobs from over the drumming of the water on the tile floors.

 

“Entirely understandable,” Harry nodded. “Although she still has a good record with the shots she does take. Not that you don’t do fine with her set-ups, but it seems like you might benefit from sending more along her way.”

 

Eggsy squinted at Harry. “Oi, what kind of ref are you? Are you _supposed_ to be giving advice to team-members?”

 

“It’s only advice if you follow it,” said Harry mildly, taking a swallow of some more dark ale.

 

Eggsy couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. “Always a loophole, innit?”

 

Harry – and when had Eggsy begun thinking of him as Harry? – smiled slightly.

 

This was borderline insane. Eggsy hadn’t even noticed, but all the shoptalk had relaxed him somewhat. He was still pretty fucking baffled at how he was actually having a pint with Harry Hart. But it was like he had completely forgotten, well, they were both _footballers_ when it came right down to it. He and his mates had sat in this very pub a hundred times, talking about football. And – shockingly – this really didn’t feel much different.

 

Except none of Eggsy’s mates ever looked as immaculate as the man sitting across from him. How in god’s name did anyone make _Guinness_ look as posh as that? It wasn’t like Harry had his pinky outstretched or anything, but he might as well have. But for all his controlled, sophisticated flair, he still looked…completely at ease in his surroundings? Like he melted right into the wooden seat, as much a part of the furnishings as the booth itself. It was a dissonance that set Eggsy’s head spinning, and he latched back onto their former topic of conversation of the football world, as something to ground him.

 

“Yeah well we’ll see,” he said. “She’d hate to think I was patronizing her or summat, even if that weren’t what it was about. In fact,” he suddenly laughed and looked a bit sheepish. “Back when she first joined, anytime it looked like the media were about to jump on her for whatever reason, give her shit, I used to try and do something ridiculous in public. Take a bit of the attention away from her.”

 

“You what?” Harry asked letting out a snort that was an almost-laugh.

 

“Well nothing that would make me look like a delinquent or nothing,” Eggsy said grinning. “Given that, ‘Public image does matter, Eggsy, loathe as I am to admit it’,” he said in imitation of Merlin, in a Scottish-accent that was so spot-on it had Harry letting out a genuine laugh this time.

 

“Many surprises,” Harry said after he’d got his breath back. Eggsy was blindsided by the hint of warmth in his voice and waited for Harry to continue, but the man didn’t elaborate.

 

“Yeah well,” Eggsy grinned, scratching at the back of his neck. “I got one younger sister already an’ all, so I guess I can’t really help it.”

 

“Oh do you?” Harry asked, dabbing at the corner of his lips. “Do you have any pictures?”

 

And there was no way, no way in hell that Harry Hart, Harry _Hart_ was actually inquiring after Eggsy’s family like they went to the same grocer as him, and they bumped into each other Sundays all the bloody time. But he was, and Eggsy did, have pictures that is, and he took them out of his wallet and slid them over to Harry telling him all about her, her favourite colours, foods she hated, and all kinds of information Harry couldn’t possibly be interested in but apparently was, and so Eggsy rambled on.

 

The noise level of the bar grew higher, and their drinks grew lower, and Eggsy realized they’d been there almost an hour. Talk of Eggsy sister had turned into general inquiries about Eggsy’s family, not that Eggsy had aired all the dirty-laundry brought on by his former step-dad. That had gotten Eggsy asking about Harry’s family, a question that had been graciously deflected but animatedly replaced with stories about the house Harry was trying to remodel. Refurnishing a bathroom should have been the dullest conversation topic possible, but Harry was so deadpan in how homicidal the project was making him, that Eggsy could actually feel _tears_ of laughter creeping into his eyes at one point.

 

Fuck, this was the most fun Eggsy had had off the pitch in what felt like bloody ages. Despite the fact that he was slowly unlearning a lifetime of resentment towards Harry Hart, partly brought on my how much he’d idolized him, Harry honestly made it ridiculously easy. The man whom Eggsy had seen in old grainy press footage, stoic and stern with reporters, was more than animated with an audience of one. No one had ever accused Eggsy of being the strong silent type, given that he tended to run his mouth as much as his legs. But for all of Eggsy’s verbal inclinations, make no doubt about it: Harry was holding court. And Eggsy was rapt.

 

Which made him blink, startled when he realized their glasses were both drained, and that Harry was removing some crisp banknotes to pay for his drink.

 

“Oh yeah, I guess you’ve probably got places to be,” Eggsy said, suddenly feeling like a kid. Of course Harry Hart had business to attend to, unlike Eggsy, who between matches, practices, and the odd press event, really was just a normal twenty-something.

 

“Unfortunately I do,” Harry said regretfully, picking up his umbrella where it lay beside him in the booth.

 

“Well here, let me run you,” Eggsy said, reaching for his hoodie, but Harry shook his head.

 

“Please, it’s no inconvenience. You’ve done enough by introducing me to this place. That was one of the loveliest pints of Guinness I’ve had,” Harry said, so sincerely that Eggsy laughed.

 

“Then you really don’t get out enough, bruv,” he said.

 

“You may be right, Eggsy,” Harry said. “You may be right.”

 

“Well if you like divey pubs,” Eggsy said easily, trying to suppress the way his heart rate had just picked up for no reason. “Let me know if you need a tour guide.”

 

Harry bit his lip. “After the tournament, whatever the outcome, I would love a tour of the finest seedy pubs London has to offer. But until then, I believe it would be best to stick to the regulations in their barest form.There’s no harm in one outing,” Harry added carefully. “But if we were spotted in a busier place, the principal ref with a player? I rather think people might talk.”

 

Eggsy nodded seriously before letting a psychotic glint creep into his eye. “People will say we’re in love,” he said in a wheezing, sinister rasp, before emitting a series of tongue slithers.

 

He looked up at Harry who was staring at him, his mouth agape.

 

“Hannibal Lecter? No? Silence of the – oh forget it,” he muttered, mentally cursing his lack of filter.

 

Harry shook his head, as though coming out of a daze. “Your Merlin was much stronger.”

 

“I do a _great_ Anthony Hopkins,” Eggsy protested.

 

“I would stick to football,” Harry said drily, and Eggsy snorted with laughter before sobering up.

 

Harry put back on the black leather gloves he’d been wearing, and favored Eggsy with a small smile. “Eggsy, it’s been a pleasure.” He paused, and removed his right glove again, extending his hand, and Eggsy shook it. It was far more heartfelt than the official, perfunctory handshake he’d received earlier that same day before the match, when Harry had still been in his reffing blacks.

 

Harry turned to go, but stopped as though struck by a thought.

 

“Oh I meant to ask…how on earth did you get that Fort Knox of a liquor cabinet open?” When Eggsy stared at him in astonishment, Harry smiled. “Merlin brought it up. He and I tried every means of picking the lock when he became captain, but never managed to figure it out.”

 

Eggsy laughed for so long that the corners of Harry’s eyes began to crinkle. He waited until Eggsy had regained his breath.

 

“He made us do sprints for a full _hour_ for ‘insubordination’,” he said, shaking his head into his empty glass disbelief. “That _wanker_.”

 

Eggsy looked back up at Harry, eyes full of mirth. “We used the  _key_ , mate. Asked me mate John if we could borrow it, John said yes. Simple as that.”

 

“Ah,” said Harry, smiling somewhat, and another spasm of laughter went through Eggsy.

 

“Pick the bloody lock…unbelievable. What are you, some wannabe spy movie?” Eggsy teased.

 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Harry, not at all offended. “Anyways, I suppose I’ll see you at the first round of the semi-finals next week. May you practice hard.”

 

“Who says ‘may you practice hard’,” snorted Eggsy. “What, you’re not gonna wish me luck like a normal person?”

 

“A referee may not express any personal hope in a match’s specific outcome,” Harry rattled off. “In accordance with rule –“

 

“Eighty-five, subsection three, yeah yeah, alright” Eggsy grinned. “Almost forgot you was my ref there for a minute, bruv.”

 

Harry’s face twitched for a moment, but his minute expression of conflict was quickly replaced by a friendlier one. He hesitated, and then reached out to clap Eggsy on the shoulder.

 

“As did I, my boy. As did I.”

 

And spinning on his heel, he strode easily across the pub, umbrella swinging lightly off his arm, before pushing the door open, and vanishing into the afternoon light, leaving Eggsy behind, staring at the strip of sunlight that Harry had just walked into, wondering what in the bloody hell _he_ had just walked into himself.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

There were parts of the Kingsmen Clubhouse and Headquarters that Eggsy liked very much. He liked the old photographs that lined the walls, showing old players he never knew, never would know, but with whom he still shared the same bond of being from the same team. He liked the reception desk, with its warm, shiny, polished wood and its warm shiny, polished receptionist who always had time to joke with Eggsy, despite being the hub of a thousand different memos, messages, and briefs that flew throughout the building. He liked the lounge with its rich carpet and ever-crackling fireplace, where he’d once sat with Roxy getting giddily drunk off the clubhouse’s private stash of ceremonial liquor. He liked the kitchens where no one paid him any mind if one of the most high-profile footballers in the UK felt like going to the counter with the kettle and fixing himself a cuppa, while chatting with the wait staff who snuck out to the emergency exit for a few fags. He liked Merlin’s office with its clearly expensive, but functional, unpretentious, and comfortable furnishings. He liked curling up in one of the office chairs to either chatter aimlessly at Merlin while he worked, or lean over the man’s desk as they re-enacted football matches using their fingers as miniature ‘legs’, kicking a crumpled up post-it note between them for the ball.

 

It was a nice building that felt more homey than Eggsy’s own swank-ass flat for some reason. He certainly felt more comfortable here than he ever expected to feel in a place this posh.

 

But there was one place where he never felt _quite_ at ease, and that was Arthur’s office.

 

He dragged his feet up the plush carpet on the main staircase, feeling supremely unwilling about hearing the team president’s traditional ‘captains’ pep talk’ to all semi-finalists of the UK Cup.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea behind it. It was a nice enough gesture of Arthur to want to meet with all the team captains. But he’d always gotten the sense that Arthur never thought Eggsy should have made captain in the first place. Not in anything he _said_. The man was unfailingly polite. But any attempt of Eggsy’s to be friendly was always met with a smile that seemed more like a sneer, while the president would gaze down at him, his eyes glazed with a layer of condescension.

 

God Eggsy wished Rox were with him, but the meetings were done separately with each captain, and she’d already done hers that morning. _She_ at least knew what to say to these people, completely at home in these social situations. A lot of people were surprised at how quickly he and Roxy had hit it off. There he’d been, uncomfortable for the longest while around all these posh blokes on his team, knowing if he weren’t handy with a football they’d never have had anything to do with each other. Roxy was every bit as posh as them, and so he should have felt defensive around her as well when she joined but…as well-bred as his mate was, the fact that she was a girl had her feeling just as much an outsider as Eggsy. It was no small wonder they’d bonded.

 

Eggsy strode down the hallway getting nearer Arthur’s office. He snorted at the enormous door, able to see its ridiculously extravagant gold doorknocker from the other end of the hall. If Arthur thought he could intimidate people like Eggsy with a door like that, well…he was _kind_ of right.

 

Arthur was a cold fish all right. And he was probably going to be extra frigid with Eggsy, given Eggsy’s last performance in which he may or may not have gone off on the classism of professional sports a _wee_ bit, courtesy of that reporter’s question about Harry Hart.

 

Alright so Eggsy had overdone it a little. But that was before he’d actually really _met_ the man wasn’t it? He was still reeling somewhat from their encounter the other day, that had not only been a bolt from the clear blue sky, but had turned out to be one of the most memorable encounters Eggsy had had since he’d dribbled his way into the big leagues four years ago.

 

Being a sports celebrity, Eggsy’s life was remarkably short of meaningful interactions. Sometimes it seemed like everyone he came across was either after an autograph, a soundbite, tickets to the next game, or a selfie that would _only take a second, Eggsy, you just have to press the screen in the middle! But if you tap it lightly first and then tap it again it’ll focus better. But wait can you take a vertical one too?_

Eggsy was happy to give, he really was. But it seemed like most of his exchanges with others were so steeped in fawning, cronyism, and after the fact media-polishing, that he felt like he was just giving and giving and giving every last part of himself away sometimes, while never getting any communication back. He had his mum, and his little sister of course. To them he’d always be Eggsy from the Block (and his mum really needed to update that joke, J-Lo was what, fifty now?). And then there was Merlin, who was probably the most down-to-earth person Eggsy had ever met, and couldn’t be less impressed with his team’s celebrity status, no matter how many endorsements they got. It wasn’t all football coaches that were so grounded, and Eggsy knew he’d lucked out in having the man not only become his coach, but become something of a mate over the years. And then there was Roxy his _best_ mate, and thank Christ she’d joined the Kingsmen when she did, because the team’s sniping and minor class-warfare among the lads and Eggsy would have torn them apart long ago, if not for Roxy’s frankly out _standing_ diplomatic skills, and natural tendency to act as mediator. She’d throttle him if he ever called her ‘nurturing’, but that’s exactly what she’d done to them.

 

So Eggsy did have people in his life, but those relationships were all steeped in history. He couldn’t meet anyone _new_ without them seeing his glossy media-persona.

 

And then Harry had joined him for a pint, given Eggsy his company, given Eggsy his stories, given Eggsy his advice, and given Eggsy his honest attention. He might have been Harry Hart, former Kingsmen #9, football idol, but Eggsy was shocked at how easily the headlines and the youtube clips and the man’s jersey number had melted away until Eggsy was sitting across from just _Harry_. And despite the years and social hierarchy that separated them, Eggsy felt like for the first time he’d met someone new who hadn’t wanted to take from him, but rather, had wanted to give something back. All on the first time they’d spoken.

 

So yeah, Eggsy was quite honestly flabbergasted, but not so flabbergasted that he hadn’t spent the past week of practices spurred on by an extra glow that sounded a lot like Harry’s voice saying ‘May you practice hard.’

 

Eggsy snorted, and suddenly realized he’d arrived at Arthur’s door feeling a lot lighter than he did a moment ago, when he’d been dragging his feet as though the man’s office was the gallows, and Eggsy was a French prisoner who had stolen a loaf of bread.

 

What? Yes, so he had seen _Les Miserables,_ and so what? Football chavs can’t like musicals?

 

Eggsy lifted the unnecessarily heavy doorknocker and thwanked it down, waiting for Arthur’s voice.

 

He walked in and headed over to the white haired man sitting behind the desk.

 

“Ah, Eggsy, thank you for joining me,” Arthur said, rising to shake Eggsy’s hand.

 

“Always,” Eggsy said briefly, instead of ‘my pleasure’ which it wasn’t.

 

“And how is your mother doing? And little sister?” Arthur inquired pleasantly.

 

“They’re fine,” Eggsy said. Normally he could never shut up about his family, but they weren’t Arthur’s to ask after, when Eggsy knew he didn’t really care.

 

“A very unique cap,” Arthur said, sitting back down, and nodding at Eggsy’s cap. Eggsy knew Arthur thought it was classless and wanted him to remove it, which is why it stayed firmly planted on Eggsy’s head.

 

“Thanks, mate,” Eggsy said with a dispassionate grin, sitting down across the desk.

 

“I’ll not keep you long, Eggsy,” Arthur said, to Eggsy’s immediate relief. “I just wanted to see how preparations are going for the semi-finals.” He leaned forward with his hands clasped to appraise Eggsy.

 

“It’s going well,” Eggsy shrugged. “Got a few new plays coming up. People expect Roxy to pass to me for goals by now, but we figured if she sends more along Charlie’s way then we’ll catch ‘em by surprise and whatnot. That were Charlie’s idea, and I think he just wanted to up his own scoring stats a bit, but it’s still a good idea. Merlin thought so too, so we’re doing it.”

 

“Excellent,” said Arthur, sounding pleased. “And the rest of the team?”

 

“They’re on point,” Eggsy said enthusiastically. “Merlin’s got us doing drills out of our arses,” he said, smirking at Arthur’s face before continuing. “Our new midfielder is really working out too, seeing as how he only joined six months ago.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Arthur said, adjusting his glasses. “And speaking of new blood…well, relatively new…how did things feel under Mr. Hart’s supervision?”

 

“I think…” Eggsy paused, smoothing over the way his pulse had tripped at the sudden mention of the name. “I think it’ll be fine,” he said honestly.

 

“This is all good news,” Arthur said, straightening up. “Well I’m sure you have a lot of practicing to get to. Roxy mentioned as much in our meeting this morning. And I have another team captain to meet with. Let me walk you to the door,” he said, courteous as ever.

 

They reached the door just as they heard a heavy thunk of the knocker from the other side.

 

“Ah, that must be her now,” Arthur said, and Eggsy barely had time to register Arthur’s use of ‘her’ before the door was being swung open and he was staring at Giselle Norman, aka ‘The Gazelle’, the only other girl in the League, and left-forward of the Victoria Valentines, their opponents in next week’s semi-finals.

 

“Eggsy, I don’t believe you and Miss Norman have met, have you?” Arthur asked.

 

“No,” Eggsy said honestly. She’d only just joined her team this past year, now that prosthetics were allowed, and they’d never played against each other, or even spoken.

 

Nor did they speak now, when Eggsy extended his hand to shake hers, with amiable enough ‘Hullo.’ She gripped his hand firmly but didn’t respond, instead flicking her eyes up and down his body, sizing him up. She then smiled slightly, eyes glinting, as though whatever she’d discovered was amusing to her.

 

Eggsy felt rattled but he also knew that was probably her intention, trying to psyche him out. So he squared his shoulders, and gestured magnanimously to the chair he’d just exited.

 

As she brushed past him, Eggsy couldn’t help glancing down to the prosthetics so heavily-covered in the media, but that he’d never seen in real life. On the field she wore athletic prosthetics that curved at the foot, in the shape and texture of a cleat, so that they’d be deemed safe for play.

 

But off the field, the wicked curve of her everyday prosthetics could only be described as…blades.

 

She sat down, swiftly crossing her legs, the prosthetic flashing before it settled over her other knee. Eggsy could see himself blurrily outlined in the metal, and when he looked up he saw Gazelle gazing at him from over her shoulder with a smirk.

 

Eggsy blushed, knowing she’d seen him staring in the actual _reflection_ of her legs. So he gave a final brusque nod to her and Arthur and left the office feeling somewhat unnerved. Christ, she was a sharp one, wasn’t she? And he wasn’t just saying that because she was all Kill Bill from the waist down.

 

Eggsy checked his mobile and saw he still had a couple hours to kill before their practice that afternoon. He didn’t really feel like going into town seeing as how the stadium was _right_ there and all, but he also didn’t feel like hanging around with nothing to do.

 

And putting his mobile back in his hoodie, he started heading in the direction of Merlin’s office, just in case his coach was still getting work done and needed to be bothered.

 

 

***

 

“So that’s the starting lineups sorted for each team,” Harry said briskly, adding Merlin’s list to his folder. “Thank you, Merlin,” he said, nodding to the man behind the desk. “And I received the Valentines’ list from their captain just earlier, who I believe is with Arthur now. If there are any changes the coaches will let me know, and I’ll inform the rest of the referees.”

 

The assistant linesmen sitting beside their principal referee all nodded, as Harry retrieved a new form from his briefcase, laying the thick paper on the desk.

 

“And this is to show that the first game of the semi-finals is between the Kingsmen and the Valentines. Merlin you sign here next to my name to recognize your participation, the other space is for Richmond Valentine whom I have to visit later, for his signature. And if the other linesmen would be good enough to sign underneath as witnesses…”

 

An army of pens reached out automatically. They’d been signing papers for the past fifteen minutes, and Harry still had more for them. Unbelievable how many forests had gone into making the sheer amount of bloody _forms_ that went into a football tournament. Harry had them all perfectly organized of course, but that didn’t mean he _enjoyed_ the responsibility.

 

While his assistant linesmen were all bending over to affix their signatures to another form, Harry stole a glance at Merlin. Harry dropped his professional veneer for a moment to roll his eyes at the umpteenth form on the desk, and to mime shooting himself in the head with his pen. Merlin turned a laugh into a cough.

 

Just then the door to Merlin’s office was flung open, as a cheery voice said: “Oi, wanna go to the kitchens with me? Arthur freaks me the _fuck_ out, mate, I need at least _five_ of those cheesy croissant things they leave lying about.”

 

Merlin, Harry, and the three other assistant linesmen all glanced up to see Eggsy standing in the door, who had only just realized he’d walked in on his coach in a meeting with all four members of the tournament’s official refereeing committee.

 

“Oh, um…” Eggsy said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “You lot want anything too?”

 

Harry looked over at Merlin, who seemed as though he was swallowing a laugh. “We’re fine thank you, Eggsy.”

 

“Right,” Eggsy said. “I’ll just…” he walked backwards to the door again, ludicrously slowly. “…be on my way, then. Sorry, bruvs. As you were,” he said in a pseudo-posh voice, with a comical bow.

 

“Oh, Eggsy, hang on a minute,” Merlin said, gesturing towards him while opening one of his desk’s bottom drawers. “Excuse me just a moment, gentlemen.”

 

Eggsy walked over to the desk, a little apprehensively with four pairs of refereeing eyes trained on him. It seemed like he didn’t really know where to look while Merlin rummaged around in the drawer.

 

Finally his gaze fell on Harry and everything about the lad seemed to light up, basking everything around him in it, Harry included.

 

“Harry,” he blurted out like he couldn’t help it, with a grin that seemed to tickle the air around it in its genuine curve.

 

Harry was suddenly incredibly conscious of everyone else in the room. He felt like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He knew it was his own damn guilty conscience for having gone out to drinks with the lad. But Eggsy had seemed so sincere and just so far from Harry’s initial assumptions about him, that it had drawn Harry’s attention in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He had gotten a flashing impression that there was so much more to this young man than initially met the eye. And whether by some kind of camaraderie from having been on the same team as him, or some bizarre mentoring instinct Harry didn’t even know he possessed, he had suddenly found himself wanting to know just how _much_ more there was to him.

 

So he cleared his throat and nodded. “Mr. Unwin,” he said. The wattage on the boy’s face dimmed a fraction, and Harry cursed himself internally. That was the same dismissive tone he’d used the other day, before really speaking with him, before he’d come to think of him as Eggsy. But Eggsy quickly shook off the brief look of disappointment that probably only Harry had noticed.

 

“Mr. Hart,” Eggsy said politely. Harry opened his mouth to…to what? Explain himself? Explain why he couldn’t return Eggsy’s smile, despite his instincts screaming at him to? Explain that in his official capacity as a referee he couldn’t gently chide Eggsy for his carb-laden pastry choices like he automatically wanted to? Explain why he couldn’t laugh at Eggsy’s distaste for Arthur when he was in front of his colleagues, despite sharing a similar distaste for the president?

 

Another second of staring at the boy’s disenchanted face, and Harry might have unleashed all those thoughts that had zipped across his mind the moment Eggsy had said his name. But then Merlin was finally handing a large red folder to Eggsy.

 

“Would you mind bringing this to practice a little early? It contains some variations of the drills from yesterday, which I’d like you to read over if you get the chance. Just focus on pages twelve through fourteen. Look over it with Roxy if she happens to be setting up early too.”

 

“She will,” Eggsy grinned, thwacking Merlin with the folder, to which Merlin just rolled his eyes.

 

“I know she will. Now be off with ye.”

 

Eggsy gave Merlin a mock-salute, and strolled comfortably across the office, like it was somewhere he stopped by every day. Come to think of it, he probably did. Harry suddenly felt unaccountably jealous of Merlin.

 

 _Oh get a grip, Hart,_ Harry advised himself sternly. He was fully aware that having spent so long in retirement, away from his old life, the boy was inspiring a medley of nostalgia for Harry. Seeing him gave Harry a cocktail of envy, enthusiasm, and energy that he hadn’t felt since he’d left football and shut himself off from the world. It was practically pavlovian.

 

 _It’s just that_ , Harry told himself, relieved he’d pinpointed the source of what had gotten him glowing so much at the lad’s charmingly abrupt entrance.

 

He was suddenly aware of everyone staring at him. Merlin had evidently just asked him a question.

 

“My apologies, another what?” he asked, busying himself with the contents of his briefcase.

 

“I was wondering if you had another novel in there for us to sign, or was that the last of them?” Merlin asked, nodding towards the briefcase.

 

“No, I’d say that covers it,” Harry said, snapping his briefcase smartly up. “I’ll run these to Valentine now. Thank you, gentlemen.”

 

The chairs scraped as everyone stood up to shake hands. The assistant linesmen filed out and Harry hung back collecting the rest of his effects.

 

“Sorry for the interruption,” Merlin said, accent and posture easing somewhat now that the others were gone. “I can get the lad to do feats on the football field I wouldn’t have thought possible, but knocking? It’s beyond him.”

 

“No it’s quite alright, I didn’t mind,” Harry said quickly.

 

“Oh no? Thought you might find it, what was it…insufferable, you said?” Merlin asked, tone easy but eyes sharp, remembering Harry’s comment about his player from the other day.

 

Harry felt his neck prickle somewhat. “No I…we actually had a chance to chat the other day,” he said, omitting that the chat had taken place for over an hour in a pub. “And he’s…he’s quite a good sort. I was being fractious and I apologize. You were quite right, Alick.”

 

“You do realize that you and my mother are the only people who ever call me that anymore, don’t you?” Merlin said easily, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “And of course I was right. You should listen to me more often, you know."

 

“Why would I start now?” Harry asked, widening his eyes innocently at his former captain.

 

“Told you you reminded me of him,” Merlin snorted, but he gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze before returning to the papers on his desk to rifle through them. “What did you even talk about?”

 

Everything. Nothing. Harry wasn’t even sure, he only knew he still wanted to keep it to himself at least for now.

 

“He did his Hannibal Lecter impersonation for me,” he offered.

 

Merlin groaned and rubbed his temples. “God, did he really? I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

 

“Yes it was rather dreadful,” Harry agreed, but his lips were tugging up. He put on his coat. “I should run if I’m going to get these to Valentine. But I’ll see you at the semis. Have a good practice.”

 

Harry hurried down the staircase, walking briskly across the lobby. He _did_ have to get a move on if he wanted to get these forms to the Valentine headquarters across town before they closed. But he was also hoping to catch –

 

“Eggsy,” he said, reaching the top of the Clubhouse’s front stairs, relieved to see the lad still waiting for the valet, red folder tucked beneath his arm.

 

Eggsy turned with a face that was both wary and hopeful. Harry felt his chest clench, guilty at his cool greeting in Merlin’s office. He was also not unaware of their positions being reversed: the other day Eggsy had come out after him on these very stairs, and now Harry was the one walking down them uncertainly.

 

But if Eggsy could extend an olive branch to Harry when they didn’t have a solid footing to stand on, then Harry could man up and do it now.

 

“I wanted to thank you again for your invitation the other day,” Harry said, because even if he didn’t always know the right thing to say, he at least always knew the polite thing to say.

 

“Weren’t no problem,” Eggsy said, relaxing somewhat, but he was still eyeing Harry a bit uneasily.

 

Harry stepped down the stairs towards him. “Look…I’m sorry if I was abrupt earlier.”

 

“Nah, s’alright,” Eggsy said. “You were working and all.”

 

“Well it’s not so much that I was working,” Harry said. “But rather, who I was working with. I couldn’t risk the rest of the refereeing committee thinking I favor certain players over others,” he said apologetically.

 

Eggsy nodded seriously. And then his eyes twinkled with mischief. “And do you? Favor certain players over others, that is?” he asked with a grin that was just shy of wicked.

 

“Yes,” Harry said simply, and it was worth it to see Eggsy’s jaw fairly drop, before he snapped it back up, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

 

“Really,” he said, clearly trying to tamper the eagerness that was creeping its way into his tone.

 

“Yes,” Harry said again, moving a little closer to Eggsy, who was gripping the folder Merlin had given him, for dear life. “But I think you already know that.”

 

“I do?” Eggsy croaked out, taking a step towards Harry.

 

“Yes you do,” Harry said calmly, leaning forward.  “Since I believe I already told you how very much I admired Miss Morton’s playing.”

 

Eggsy looked confused for a moment, head cocked to one side. And then he burst into a startled laugh.

 

“You really are a prick, aren’t you?” he said with absolutely no heat, still laughing.

 

“Careful, Mr. Unwin, that’s a Premier League official you’re addressing. Cursing at an official is a yellow-card offense,” Harry said, wondering if the merriment he felt was showing in his voice.

 

“Not if we’re off the pitch it’s not, according to rule forty-seven,” Eggsy said grinning.

 

“Well then according to rule forty-seven, I’m allowed to say you’re as big a pain in the arse as Merlin mentioned, aren’t you?” Harry asked, warming at Eggsy’s second outburst of laughter.

 

“Glad we sorted that out then,” Eggsy said when he’d finally straightened up, eyes twinkling.

 

“Indeed,” Harry said.

 

Just then the valet pulled up with Eggsy’s ostentatiously yellow sportscar. Last time Harry had found it ridiculous. Now he just felt it was as bright, fast, and sunny as Eggsy himself.

 

Eggsy thanked the valet, taking his keys back. “I should head to practice and all, if I want to get through this new stuff before the lads show up,” he said, waggling the red folder. “But I’ll…”

 

Harry softened at Eggsy scuffing his trainers on the pavement.

 

“I’ll see you, yeah?” Eggsy finally said, once he’d stopped digging the leather wings on his shoes into the gravel of the driveway.

 

“I’m sure you will,” Harry said.

 

He stood in the driveway after Eggsy had driven off, far longer than he needed to. He felt like he was teetering on the knife’s edge of _something_ with these interactions. Christ, he’d only agreed to fill the empty reffing slot as a last-minute favor to the League. All this tournament was supposed to be was him coming in, supervising a few games, ignoring reporters, and then getting the hell out and back to the life he’d constructed for himself over the past twenty years, post-injury. This was a professional venture, nothing more.

 

And now he was giggling with the players like they were bloody schoolgirls.

 

Well alright. _One_ player.

 

Harry knew he should keep his distance, but could he help it that his early retirement up until now had been so devoid of any kind of warmth? For all that he barely knew Eggsy, it was like he could feel himself thawing every time the lad turned his gaze on him, bringing out an ease in Harry that he thought he’d tamped down long ago.

 

Harry suddenly thought of the moths that decorated his walls, in their glass frames. He’d collected them as a child, starting with the small ones that he’d find on his front porch. They’d been zapped by the porch light, drawn to its constant light, unable to stay away from the brightness.

 

Watching Eggsy laugh, Harry felt like he could understand their compulsion.

 

Harry shook his head, clearing the swirling images of moths, Eggsy’s smile, business meetings, Eggsy laughing, signing forms, Eggsy teasing him…

 

He had work to get done, a meeting to get to. And he wasn’t about to show up _late_ just because one particular player had gotten under his skin.

 

Harry checked his watch and swore.

 

Alright, so maybe he was.

 

 

***

 

 

“Anyone home?” Eggsy asked, poking his head into the flat below his. He’d let himself in with his own key but he still knocked on the side of the door.

 

“Eggsy!” an excited voice squealed, and there was its owner, toddling around the corner arms outstretched.

 

“Upsee-Daisy!” Eggsy laughed, swinging his little sister into his arms, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Where’s mum?”

 

Daisy pointed towards the living room and then settled her head on Eggsy’s shoulder with a large yawn. Practice had finished late, but Eggsy still wanted to stop in on his family before hitting the hay himself.

 

Shifting Daisy in his arms, Eggsy kicked off his trainers and padded down the wide, elegant hall of his mum and sister’s own loft. Sports salaries were _ridiculous_ so when Eggsy had bought himself his first digs, of course he went and got an almost identical one for his mum and little sis.

 

But while Eggsy’s was in a style that was decidedly ‘bachelor pad’, up-to-date, a cool white with swanky black accents, Michelle had chosen to give her digs a slightly more feminine touch. About half the potted flowers in here were grown by her, a hobby she’d given up around the same time she’d taken up with Eggsy’s bastard of an ex step-father. He thought they were a waste of money, and so Michelle hadn’t grown any more flowers in their time together. Except their Daisy. Michelle had almost never stood up to Dean. But when it had come to naming Daisy, she’d been adamant about the name. Probably the only reason Dean had agreed was because he didn’t care what his daughter was called, one way or another. I mean hell, Eggsy had spent the majority of his formative years as ‘Mugsy’ for Christ’s sake.

 

Eggsy trailed a finger along the chrysanthemums that were neatly placed in a glass bowl on the hall table. It always made Eggsy feel a twinge of emotion to see the results of his mum’s gardening. It was probably therapeutic for her, in the same way football could be for him, he mused, as he turned the corner into the airy living room.

 

“There he is!” his mum said, starting to rise from the sofa. She winced.

 

“No, don’t get up, mum,” Eggsy said quickly, striding over and plunking Daisy on the sofa so he could bend down and give Michelle a kiss on the head. “How was your day?”

 

“Good. Relaxing, unlike yours I bet. Merlin kept you lot late today, didn’t he?” she asked.

 

Eggsy shrugged. “Nothing crazy by his standards. But it’s go-mode! We’ve got the semis next week, can’t be slacking off now.”

 

“You’ll be brilliant, luv,” Michelle said, giving his ear a tweak. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up to making the quarter-finals, but Daisy and I watched right here from this sofa, didn’t we, pet? Didn’t your big brother do great?”

 

Daisy sleepily removed her thumb from her mouth to say, “Roxy!”

 

Michelle laughed and Eggsy opened his mouth in mock-offense. “I am your flesh and _blood_!”

 

Daisy just mumbled ‘Roxy’ again, leaning against Eggsy who ruffled up her hair.

 

“Yeah alright I forgive you, but only ‘cause she’s my favourite too. Oh and mum, she says sorry she can’t make it to dinner this time, since we finished so late.”

 

“No worries, I figured you were all still practicing, so Daisy and I already ate. But the lasagna’s still warm,” Michelle said, angling her head towards the kitchen.

 

“Lasagna?” Eggsy asked perking up. Of course Eggsy could cook for himself, he did it all the time. But no matter what you can manage to whip up when entering adulthood, it’s never _quite_ the same as your mother’s stuff. “That is _brilliant_ mum, I’m starving.”

 

“Here, let me fix you up a plate,” Michelle said, making as though to stand up again.

 

“No no no, I’ve got it, mum, don’t worry,” Eggsy said hurriedly, standing up and walking to the kitchen.

 

Michelle sunk back against the cushions with a grateful sigh. “Thanks, babe. It’s this weather this whole past week. Got my knee acting up something fierce just about every time I put any weight on it.”

 

“I thought the weather’s been pretty nice lately,” Eggsy said carefully. “Well, nice for England that is. You sure it’s that? Or maybe time to switch painkillers? I can call the team’s doctor tomorrow, he could probably squeeze you in if I asked.”

 

“Nah don’t worry about it, luv,” Michelle said. “I’ll tell you if it gets worse though, yeah? Promise.”

 

“Alright,” Eggsy said, not wanting to push the issue. For now. He brought his plate back to the sofa where he curled up next to his sister. His mum gently tsk’d him for eating on the couch, but didn’t comment.

 

“But I mean it, you were terrific in the quarter-finals, hun, we was so proud,” Michelle said fondly, reaching out to wipe some tomato sauce off of Eggsy’s chin, a motion he deflected with the practiced-ease of an only son. “And I meant to ask, but that new ref there…that’s not the same bloke you had plastered all over the walls as a kid, was it?”

 

Eggsy choked on his lasagna, and took a sip of water. “Might be,” he shrugged. “I had a lot of footballers up there, you know.”

 

“Do I ever,” Michelle snorted. “I thought he was some big-deal player back in the day. What’s he doing back as a ref?”

 

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “ _Reffing_ , mum. I don’t know, it’s not like we talk,” he lied blatantly.

 

He asked his mum an open-ended question about her plans for the weekend, and scarfed down the rest of his lasagna while she talked, so that he wouldn’t have to.

 

After his second helping – this time with salad to accompany it, which his mum insisted on – Eggsy noticed his little sister had completely nodded off.

 

“She wanted to stay up for you,” his mum said, moving Daisy’s bangs off her eyes which were twitching in their sleep.

 

Eggsy smiled, and putting his plate back on the coffee table he gently gathered up Daisy in his arms. “I’ll put her down,” he said, and not even as a favor to his mum. He always wanted to.

 

He walked through the loft, quiet since it was on the late side. Daisy’s breath was gently fluttering at his neck, and he knew the second he got upstairs to his own flat and crashed on his bed, he’d be out like a light too. Practice had him bloody _exhausted_.

 

But as tired as he was, it still felt like the day had left him with a spring in his step, even more than his habitual springiness. And Eggsy was pretty sure whom he could attribute it to.

 

Eggsy had been _so_ prepared to hate Harry Hart. From what he’d seen in the media with the man’s starched collars, stern visage, and no-nonsense posture, it should have been so easy. God it _would_ have been easier if the man were as hateable as Eggsy had assumed. Then Eggsy could just idolize his playing like he’d done all his life, and bugger the rest.

 

But then Harry had to waltz in with his quick rejoinders, easy countenance, warm smile, crinkling eyes, and a downright fucking _playful_ side that had Eggsy not knowing up from down anymore, and not sure if he wanted to.

 

Eggsy shouldn’t have offered him a pint in the first place. Then he wouldn’t have to know how inconveniently funny and affable the bloke really was.

 

Eggsy settled his sister onto her mattress and tucked her stuffed rabbit in beside her. She reached out for it in her sleep and nuzzled towards it. She looked one-hundred percent completely comfortable and Eggsy sighed because it was how Eggsy felt every time Harry opened his mouth.

 

And now Harry had to be his referee. And even if Eggsy wasn’t quite sure what their little conversations were yet, he couldn’t help the feeling that he was playing with fire somewhat.

 

 _What’s he doing back as a ref?_ his mother’s voice came floating back to him, as he made his way to Daisy’s bedroom door.

 

 _Driving me fucking mental, that's what he's doing_ , Eggsy thought in response. And with another sigh he reached out beside him on the wall, and turned off the light.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple notes:
> 
> \- Thank you all SO much for leaving so many kind words and so many amazing comments on this totally random idea for a fic! I'd never written a Kingsman fic before so was nervous about it, but you guys are all SO lovely, and your comments seriously make my day!  
> \- Sorry if the chapters are taking about a week to come! I usually prefer to update a little faster, but I'm actually in the process of moving abroad for a year and I'm leaving in two weeks (aaah). So time to just sit down and write has been a little thin on the ground. But hopefully you won't ever have to wait TOO long, I just wanted to give a heads up!
> 
> Anyways I guess that's about it, but seriously, thank you all so much again for reading and I really hope you all enjoy the rest:)


	5. Chapter 5

The thudding and spattering of the rain could be heard clearly, even as deep as the Kingsmen were in their stadium locker room. The chanting of the crowd was resonating down through the concrete of the structure, reverberating around the team, echoing against the lockers. Between the roar of wind and the bleachers, Eggsy would have sworn the thin metal was tremoring behind him.

 

Merlin paced the floors of the locker room while the team sat around him, apparently nonchalant. Only the trained eye would have picked out the white-knuckled grip on his clipboard.

 

Hugo was standing on one of the benches, straining on the toes of his cleats, craning his neck to get a glimpse through the sliver of window onto the pitch.

 

“Christ, I think it’s still a full house,” he declared, squinting out through rivulets of water.

 

“Even with Noah’s bloody ark happening out there?” Eggsy asked incredulously.

 

“They’re devoted,” said Charlie, who was balancing on one leg, hand gripping an ankle as he stretched his quad. “Who misses the first round of the semis for a bit of rain?”

 

“Potentially you lot, if we don’t get word from the officials soon,” Merlin finally spoke up, eyeing his watch testily.

 

“When would the rematch be, if they decide we can’t play in these conditions?” Roxy asked, arms crossed as she glanced at their coach.

 

“Well it’s you and the Valentines today, and the Crimsons and Middleborough tomorrow,” said Merlin. “So I imagine these first semis will take the place of tomorrow’s game instead, and then we go from there.”

 

“Well that’s what’ll happen then, innit?” Eggsy asked. “I mean there’s _no_ way we’ll go out in this, they’d have to be mental. We’d be sinking up to our knees in the mud!”

 

“Thought you felt at home on your knees,” Charlie threw out, from where he was stretching his other leg.

 

“Actually I feel most at home at yer mum’s, Charlie,” Eggsy shot back.

 

Charlie coloured and opened his mouth to say something but Merlin beat him to it.

 

“Shut it, both of you,” he barked out. “None of us like waiting but if you could please pretend you’re functioning human beings for just five more minutes we should have an answer soon.” He adjusted his glasses before peering down at Eggsy disparagingly. “And Eggsy, it’s astroturf. There’s no mud.”

 

Eggsy bit a nail darkly and looked up at Roxy who normally would have been rolling her eyes at them by this point, but instead had her mouth pressed into a thin line as she cast a worried look outside.

 

“It really does look nasty out though,” she murmured.

 

“Too right,” Eggsy said, cracking his neck and standing up. He was just about to jump up on the bench beside Hugo to catch a glimpse of the crowd, when the door to the locker room burst open.

 

Twenty-five Kingsmen in their full royal blue uniforms looked over to see one of the assistant linemen poking his head in.

 

“Mr. Graham? It’s a go. Both teams on in five.”

 

Merlin nodded his thanks and the door swung closed again. He arched an eyebrow at his team, cracking an ironic smile.

 

“Well there’s your answer,” he said. “So shall I leave you all to chat about the weather or are you ready to play some football?”

 

There was a collective, steadying breath as the team all squared their shoulders, attitudes dissipating, and adrenaline setting in. It was like everyone’s pulses picked up simultaneously as they brought it in for the huddle, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, veins pressed against each other, pumping blood and energy as one.

 

“May I?” Merlin asked Roxy, uncharacteristically wanting to address his team before a game. She nodded and he continued.

 

“Alright, team. Well. Congratulations on making the semis,” he said with a slight smile and there was a communal huff of tense laughter. “As you know, there will be three games done in round-robin style. It’s not about who wins what anymore, it’s about _points_. We need as many goals as we can get. Forwards, you know what we’re doing. Roxy, pass to Charlie first to catch them off guard. Charlie, if you’re blocked, pass it along to Eggsy.”

 

Merlin looked away from his Big Three at the others. “Defenders, I want you in formation _at all times_. Nothing gets through. I want to see Nate having nothing to do this whole game.”

 

“You and me both, mate,” their goalkeeper Nathaniel muttered. Eggsy felt a twinge of sympathy. So many factors go into a ball making it into the net, but time and time again it’s the goalie who gets blamed, and bears the brunt of the guilt.

 

“Sound good?” Merlin asked at the team at large. They all gave tight smiles and Roxy looked at them in disbelief.

 

“Oh come on, what’s wrong with you lot? Sound GOOD?” she yelled in question, and the team all laughed at the way her voice pitched, some of the tension leaving the locker room. They put their hands in the middle for the team chant, revving themselves up. Before they charged out, Eggsy saw Merlin squeeze Roxy’s shoulder in thanks.

 

The second Eggsy rushed out onto the field he was coated with rain sleeting at him from all directions, water being buffeted about by the wind. He blinked in shock, water dripping off his eyelashes as he squinted up at the stands, trying to make out the crowd. He couldn’t make out who was wearing blue for them, and who was wearing bright red for the Valentines. It was just a sea of billowing, black umbrellas, all tenting the anonymous wave of cheers.

 

His cleats squelched into the man-made grass as he jogged alongside Roxy.

 

“Oi, this is ridiculous,” he shouted at her over the wind. “How are we seriously allowed to play in this?”

 

Wet strands of hair were already plastered to her forehead, and she slicked them to the side. “I suppose there has to actually be thunder for it to be called off, and apparently there’s no risk of lightning or anything,” she yelled back.

 

Eggsy snorted. “Alright, so no risk of electrocution. Just drowning apparently.”

 

“Cheer up,” she grinned, feet splashing in the turf, giving the crowd a wave. “This time you’ll actually have an excuse to take your shirt off.”

 

“Morton, I swear to God –“ Eggsy said, and they bounded towards the middle of the field.

 

Eggsy was already _drenched_ by the time they reached center field. All the floodlights were on, bright spotlights to illuminate the players, but it still felt darker than usual. He almost missed Harry in his official blacks.

 

Harry was also soaked clean through, his hair glued to his scalp in limp curls. Eggsy noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and figured the man had put in contacts instead, rather than risking his glasses fogging up and being pelted with rain in the downpour.

 

They stood in center field, rain pouring down on them, waiting for the Valentines’ captains. Eggsy longed to ask him if he’d ever considered installing miniature windshield wipers onto the lenses of his glasses. He could already picture the man’s eyes giving a half roll, warring with the tug of his lip. The rain had been steadily chilling Eggsy’s skin, but somehow the image made him warm.

 

He caught Harry’s eye and bit his lip, not knowing entirely what to say.

 

 _It’s a match, you don’t say anything_ , Eggsy silently scolded himself. So he gave a Harry a brisk nod and the man responded with the barest inclination of his chin.

 

Eggsy shook the rain out of his hair, hoping to also shake out the thought that had crept into his head, which was that Harry’s handshake had lingered on him just a sliver longer than it had on Roxy’s.

 

Eggsy bounced from side to side, clapping his hands, letting the stomping of the crowd propel him, heart thumping in anticipation of the game. And then out of the rain walked the captains of the Valentines. They were a bloke called Andrew, and, of course, ‘The Gazelle.’

 

The crowd roared when Roxy and Gazelle shook hands, and Eggsy was blinded by the flash of photographers who’d been lingering on the pitch, hired for the purpose of capturing the moment. It was the first time two girls were ever facing off at the semi-final level, and regardless of the match’s outcome, the shot of the two captains shaking hands while a rainstorm whipped around them would be plastered everywhere come morning.

 

Gazelle turned to shake Eggy’s hand and Eggsy couldn’t help swallowing drily. He was so used to Roxy’s hair being pulled back in a smart ponytail when she played. But apart from a black headband to keep it off her face, Gazelle’s hair hung loose, in long wet strands that ended in points, dripping against her neck. And the way she was looking at Eggsy, the stadium lights reflected as pinprick’s in her black eyes, the effect was…wild.

 

Her mouth curved up, the shape more scimitar than smile. And Eggsy felt a sudden sharp pressure on his foot. When he glanced down he saw her shining prosthetic cleat on top of his own, digging into the well-worn leather. He yanked his foot back as though burned.

 

“Sorry,” she said, a slight cadence on the word. “I couldn’t feel you there. My foot must have been asleep.”

 

Eggsy blinked at her suspiciously, but she was already spinning on a mechanical ankle and walking to her place on the field, almost like she was stalking it.

 

“Eggs,” Roxy hissed, and he jolted, feeling extremely unsettled.

 

“Right, um. Tails,” he said, still a bit distracted.

 

Harry flicked the coin up high, catching it on the landing.

 

“Heads,” he said promptly. “Ball to the Valentines.”

 

Eggsy and Roxy joined Charlie in the center, and he exchanged a glance with them, letting himself feel grounded again by Roxy’s determined nod and Charlie’s swaggering knuckle-cracking. He turned front and saw Gazelle poised in a crouch, waiting for the whistle, to spring for the ball. And from her expression it felt like it would be at Eggsy’s throat first.

 

And then over the pounding of the rain there came the blast of the whistle, loud as thunder, sharp as lightning, and the twenty-two bodies on the pitch cracked into play.

 

 

***

 

 

Barely twenty minutes in and Eggsy was _wiped_. His muscles burned, he couldn’t see shit, and his jersey was _sodden_. Every time he sprinted it sloshed heavily around his frame. His thick football socks squashed unpleasantly in his cleats. It was like running in two leather puddles. And this Gazelle was blocking his _every_ move.

 

“Eggsy, get up there,” Merlin roared from the sidelines, both the Scottish accent and agitation in his voice thickening.

Eggsy gritted his teeth and tried to maneuver around the girl, but she was dogging his moves, mirroring him better than any looking glass. She gave him a sprightly smirk, apparently not even winded.

 

“Will do,” he shouted back frustrated, turning his head wildly for his other players. Roxy, Charlie and the Valentines’ defense were locked together, pushing their way towards the Valentines’ endzone, all grappling for the ball. He caught up to the fray.

 

He could see Roxy on her side of the pitch, catching the ball on her thighs and charging through the press of the Valentines’ defense. _Finally_. Eggsy got ready to be rushed by the defense. They’d be expecting her to pass to Eggsy, and once they all crowded him, Charlie would be left wide open for Roxy’s pass.

 

But it didn’t happen. The second Roxy punted the ball over to Charlie he was swamped, and a Valentine midfielder handily headbutted the ball out of there, while it was scooped up by another, and the ball was now being shuttled between the scarlet-clad Valentines down towards the Kingsmen’s side again.

 

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy breathed heavily to himself, and he turned himself back in the direction from which he’d just come, running back to center field, Gazelle following the whole time like a wolf that was snapping at his heels.

 

The Valentines’ offense worked the ball into the Kingsmen’s side, and the Kingsmen defense were well-placed to stop it. But the second they got the ball back out to a safer distance, there were no Kingsmen offense there to greet it. They were all being blocked by Valentines, while the ball promptly returned to the Kingsmen’s end.

 

“Shit,” Eggsy swore as everyone made a break for the Kingsmen’s net. He saw Nate adopting his goalkeeper’s stance and every defense and midfielder cover a player. But there was nothing he could do from back here besides watch furiously as a Valentine forward sent the ball flying over everyone’s heads as it hooked into the top corner of the net, no way for Nate to stop it.

 

The whistle blasted and Eggsy registered Charlie angrily kicking the ground, and Roxy stone-faced. And before he knew it they were being called for a time out.

 

The eleven starting players jogged to Merlin in his windbreaker on the sidelines. A few team assistants rushed over with umbrellas but were brushed aside. They were already sodden so what was the point.

 

“So,” said Merlin. He spoke calmly but they all avoided his eyes nonetheless. “Would anyone care to explain what happened there?”

 

Eggsy looked up first eyes flashing, though not at his coach. He gestured behind them across the pitch, where the Valentines were reconvening with their own assistant coach.

 

“They’ve got us bloody cornered is what happened there! It’s like they know exactly where we’re going to be at any given play!” Eggsy said, outraged.

 

“If they know exactly where you’re going to be, then _change plays_ ,” Merlin said incredulously. “Or are you waiting for written permission first?”

 

“We’ve got to switch it up,” Eggsy said shaking his head. “Back to the old format. Rox passes to me.”

 

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Charlie spoke up angrily. “You just want to take the shots so you can raise your scoring stats.”

 

“What the hell?” Eggsy said, swinging around to Charlie. “That’s not it, you wanker! They _know_ what we’re doing now so we’ve got to catch them by surprise.”

 

“Eggsy’s right,” Roxy said as she squeezed out the hemline of her jersey, which gushed out water. “They’re firing on all cylinders so we’ve got to slip through them. Blunt tactics won’t cut it.”

 

“Alright I think I got it,” Eggsy said. “Just follow my lead, guys, alright?”

 

“Follow your lead?” Hugo exclaimed. “We can’t see shit out there!”

 

“Just trust me,” Eggsy said, giving Merlin a questioning look, who pursed his lips and nodded at the captain.

 

The timeout clock having run down, they jogged back onto the pitch, affronted anew by the wall of freezing rain, large droplets that rolled down Eggsy’s neck, dripping into his jersey. Hey, at least he was staying cool.

 

He caught sight of Harry whom he’d barely thought about all match so far. Despite his hair plastered sleekly to his scalp, and face glistening in the rain, he looked none the worse for wear. In fact, the way his wet referee’s uniform was slapped to his body, only served to outline the man’s form, soaking into every line of his frame. And Christ, Eggsy hoped he could stay that cut when _he_ was retired.

 

Harry caught his gaze and parted his lips. Eggsy felt his pulse jump, but Harry was only sticking his ever-present whistle between them again, to blow shrilly. Game on.

 

“Same e _xact_ plan,” he muttered to Roxy, running by her.

 

“What?” she asked in disbelief, but Eggsy was already gone, this time to get position on Gazelle first. And the people who’d questioned the ability of a double-amputee in the playoffs could honestly suck Eggsy’s dick because he’d never been put through the paces like this before by one specific player in the same game.

 

Roxy got the ball easily on the left side of the pitch, and the Kingsmen forwards all headed up to the Valentines’ net, as per their original strategy. Dribbling might not have been Roxy’s go-to strength, but she was certainly running circles around the other players who were _not_ Gazelle, who was still determinedly shadowing Eggsy. Which is when Eggsy made his move.

 

Rapidly changing directions he _spun_ out of Gazelle’s perimeter and made a mad dash for the right corner.

 

“Rox, Rox over here, wide open!” he hollered, waving his arms exaggeratedly. “Forget the plan, I got it!”

 

Gazelle cursed and sprinted after him, calling to her own team as well. “Formation C!” she hollered, and the Valentines fell out, all veering towards Eggsy to block him in from even touching the ball.

 

But he wasn’t going to anyways. Because Roxy – and bless her for knowing whenever Eggsy was bluffing – was taking advantage of Eggsy’s distraction to boot the ball down the field where Charlie took hold of it with absolutely no interference. Even the goalie was positioning himself for a scoring attempt from Eggsy. And by the time the Valentines realized Charlie had possession, he was already sending it sailing into the net with an almighty kick. Tie game.

 

The crowd went mental and Eggsy and Roxy rushed Charlie.

 

“Oi, way to raise your scoring stats,” he smirked at Charlie, clapping him on the shoulder.

 

Charlie at least had the grace to look sheepish about his earlier accusation, but he gave Eggsy a light shove. “Christ, Unwin, how about warning a fellow?”

 

“How else would you stay on your toes?” Eggsy snorted. But he felt a glow of satisfaction. Because although being one of the best in the world _physically_ at something had its own rush, there was a certain kind of satisfaction that came with good, old-fashioned _outsmarting_ techniques.

 

Satisfying to everyone but Gazelle that was. Her eyes flashed dangerously at him as they retook their playing positions. Eggsy had fooled her and embarrassed her in front of her team, causing her to make a call that had resulted in a goal.

 

“Sorry, luv, better luck next time,” Eggsy said lightly, but he gave her a wicked grin. Alright, he was pushing it, and that trick wouldn’t work twice, but still.

 

 “I don’t _need_ luck,” she shot back, and cracked her knuckles, scuffing up turf with her metal cleats, almost like a bull that was preparing to charge.

 

There were only several minutes left of the first half, and it continued without incident, unless the rain growing even _heavier_ was incident. The floodlights were turned up to a burning glare that illuminated the whole pitch, but beyond that, Eggsy couldn’t see shit. The stands were pitch black, and Eggsy couldn’t make out a single audience member, although he could certainly hear them. The deafening chanting and stomping coming out of the darkness had an almost sinister effect. It felt like the pitch and players were one bright speck hurtling through a dark, vast, endless universe, floating in the black nothingness, the sea of anonymous yelling the only thing that tied them to earth.

 

All too soon they were back from halftime, out of the shelter of the sidelines, and back to playing amidst a relentless downpour. Eggsy’s skin was slick all over from the rain, and it was harder to keep control of the slippery ball. It would skid right off his cleats with zero friction, and it would spin over the wet turf faster than they intended. And it wasn’t helping that Gazelle was almost literally breathing down his neck, on his back at all times with a fierce determination to get them out of the tie. She kept Eggsy occupied while everyone else played harder, and dirtier than before.

 

Harry’s work was cut out for him in calling fouls. Every time someone went down they needed to check if they were really pushed or tripped, or if they’d simply slipped across the turf.

 

At one point Roxy’s tendency to rush headlong into the fray got the better of her, and she went down hard, landing on her wrist, crying out in pain. Eggsy rushed over at the whistle, fearing that it had broken. And while it was an angry inflamed red, she protested that she was fine.

 

“Really, I’m good, I don’t need a sub,” she said shaking her head. She wiped off the gravel bits that were sticking to her red, mottled knees. She winced a little and flexed her wrist. “Honestly, it’s fine,” she said sharply to Merlin, who had run over too.

 

Eggsy and Merlin exchanged a glance and shrugged, leaving Roxy to her penalty kick, which she got in position for, looking more than a little clammy, and not just from how soaked she was.

 

She took a running start and her foot slapped wetly into the ball, but Eggsy could already tell it hadn’t gained enough height to make it over the Valentine defenders. Not when the surface of the ball was that slick. He gave an encouraging clap anyways and resumed play.

 

“Surprise, surprise,” Gazelle mused, as they ran along the field.

 

Eggsy would have shot her a dark look if he weren’t busy tracking the ball. “Shut it.” He was getting completely rattled by her running commentary on his teammates, not to mention Eggsy himself.

 

“Well it’s not like you’ve done anything all game,” she said. “Sure you don’t just want to sit this one out? No one would notice.” Her voice dripped with wicked sympathy, and Eggsy knew her taunting was going to come to a head.

 

Five minutes later it did.

 

Because charging down the pitch with the ball, finally on a breakaway, Eggsy pulled his foot back to take a shot, and found it being pressed down again by Gazelle’s metal cleat.

 

His leg twisted out from under him and his whole body was wrenched to the side before it slammed down onto the turf. The gravel dug into him, stinging in his wet skin. He was breathing hard, panicked beyond just a fall. The rain felt like it was pummeling him.

 

“What the hell,” he finally yelled at Gazelle who was on the ground behind him. To the crowd she looked like a sprawled heap, but to Eggsy she looked like she was in a predatory crouch.

 

“Oh no, is it your knee?” she asked, widening her eyes in concern.

 

“Fuck you,” he spat out, heart hammering as he frantically massaged his knee, checking to see if it was in order.

 

“Miss Norman and Mr. Unwin, you are _both_ receiving yellow cards,” came Harry’s voice as he stepped out of the rain, both teams following behind him to check on them. “For engagement with intent to compromise, and for language, respectively.”

 

“Wot?” Eggsy asked, getting to his feet, not reaching out to help Gazelle do the same. He angrily wiped the turf gravel off his face, where some of it had been embedded when his face it the turf. “I almost had my bloody leg pulled off and I can’t even swear about it?” He glared at Harry who appeared unmoved, despite his eyes flashing warningly at Eggsy.

 

“It would benefit _all_ of you to exercise more caution in these conditions, intent to trip or not,” Harry said sternly. “Before you get a real injury.”

 

“That’s right, Eggsy,” said Gazelle who’d just stood up. She was breathing hard, and jutted her chin out at Eggsy, who turned to face her. She smirked. “Wouldn’t want to end up like your dear old mum now, would you?”

 

He didn’t even remember rushing her. But the next thing he knew he was slamming into the forward and pinning her to the turf, hollering threats in her face while their teams exploded around them.

 

“You shut yer fucking mouth,” he yelled, grinding her shoulders into the ground. He vaguely registered arms locking around him, wrenching him violently off of Gazelle who lay on the ground. She gasped theatrically on the ground for the benefit of the officials, but sent Eggsy a sly, triumphant curve of her lips. He tried to struggle out the grip, but Charlie’s arms were like a brace as they pulled Eggsy back to his feet.

 

He shook off Charlie’s arms and spun around angrily to come face-to-face with Harry who was holding the worst thing any football player could ever see. A red card.

 

Eggsy gaped at it and looked up incredulously to Harry’s face, and somehow that was even worse. It looked like more than just the usual put-upon sternness that refs had to use. Harry actually looked _angry_ with him.

 

“You kidding?” Eggsy asked, hating how young he sounded. And he immediately wished he hadn’t asked because now Harry just looked disappointed.

 

“Red card, Mr. Unwin, please leave the match immediately,” Harry said tightly, motioning to the sidelines for the Kingsmen to send a replacement.

 

“I –“ Eggsy began. He had no clue what he was going to say. But looking at Harry standing there, totally fucking oblivious, he snapped his mouth shut.

 

“Fuck you,” he said tersely, shoving past the players, throwing off the hand Roxy had placed on his shoulder, stalking back to the sidelines, ignoring the boos of the stadium, trying to keep his face composed until he could just get _away_.

 

He reached the sidelines, ignoring Merlin who was lifting his arms in disbelief.

 

“What the _hell_ , Eggsy,” he barked out.

 

Eggsy kept his head down, because Merlin was honestly the last person he wanted to see right now. He brushed past his coach, ignoring his call of ‘ _Eggsy_ ’ and stormed down to the locker room where he sent his fist flying into the first locker he saw.

 

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he thought furiously, sitting down hard on the bench, burying his face in his hands, one of which was throbbing. Because in just one minute he’d gone and fucked up a lifetime of work. Just because of one player’s trash-talking.

 

And not only had he just screwed over his _career_ , but he’d also ruined people’s good opinions of him, people whose thoughts he actually _valued_ , Merlin, Roxy, Harry…

 

He clenched his fist over his eyes, trying to block out Harry’s face as he stared furiously at Eggsy.

 

Ever since Harry had swept into his career and life, with his wry smile, acerbic observations, but unbelievably warm countenance, Eggsy had felt like his life was picking up in some way. Like he was on the cusp of what he was _supposed_ to be doing, beyond just his career and looking out for his family and his team. However much he had in his life, it still sometimes felt like there was a crack running through it, splintering his life into different sized fragments. And then Harry had come along and something about the demeanor of the man who’d shown up out of nowhere, seemed to fill it.

 

But not anymore. Because Eggsy had – inevitably – fucked it up. He must have been mad to think he was meant for anything bigger.

 

And lowering his aching hand he gripped the bench he was sitting on, swallowed, hard, and tried to block out the magnitude of just how much everything he’d worked for had gone to shit.

 

 

***

 

The Kingsmen lost.

 

Harry watched the teams file past each other, the Valentines vibrating with their 3-1 victory, the Kingsmen looking morose as they shuffled down the line, shaking hands halfheartedly. Eggsy hadn’t reappeared after Harry had sent him off, and it showed in the faces of his team. It was hard to imagine how much one player could make a difference, but when Eggsy was on the pitch, the team couldn’t help bustling with energy. Now they just looked drained, and Harry could tell it went beyond more than the loss.

 

He went to shake hands with the coaches, or rather, the assistant coach for the Valentines. Richmond Valentine himself wasn’t in attendance, something Harry personally found disgraceful. Yes the man had all kinds of business ventures and football was only a side interest of his, but that was no excuse to not be present for his team in the first of the semi-final games.

 

Harry shook hands with Merlin and tried not to look too guilty about sending off one of Merlin’s strongest players. Of course he hadn’t _wanted_ to, but what choice did he have? The lad hadn’t given him an option. Merlin at least wasn’t holding it against him, professional as he was, but he still looked regretful as he tiredly shook Harry’s hand.

 

Harry stayed behind on the sidelines, debriefing with various officials, trying to shield various documents from the downpour. He glanced up at the crowds who were all filing out with their collars turned up, braced against the weather. There was none of the usual post-match elation, regardless of who won. It had been messy weather, a messy game, and while there was some half-hearted flag-waving, people seemed to just want to get to the snug interiors of their cars, more than anything else.

 

Harry could relate. But nonetheless he hung around until the last person had left the pitch, before heading down to his own temporary office in the stadium so that he could change. But after leaving his office he didn’t go home. He turned to one of the entrances to the lower portion of the stadium, and made his down the winding corridors, taking care that his Oxfords didn’t squeak too loudly on the wet floor.

 

He stopped at a corner, hearing voices.

 

“You couldn’t fucking keep it together for _one_ second? This isn’t the _estates_ , Unwin,” a voice was yelling.

 

“Charlie, come on, quit it” said another voice angrily. The girl, Morton. It sounded like they were leaving the locker room.

 

“This is the bloody big leagues and we went and lost because he was acting like some back-alley thug,” Charlie spat out.

 

“Oh just shut _up_ , Charlie,” Morton said. “It wasn’t his fault we lost the game.”

 

Another voice mumbled, from inside the locker room, and Morton’s voice turned fiercely on it.

 

“That doesn’t mean I’m on your side,” she said, tight infuriation in every clipped syllable. “What the hell got _into_ you, Eggsy?”

 

Harry pressed himself tight against the wall, as far into the shadows as her could go, as the two players walked in his direction.

 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Charlie was fuming.

 

“Yeah yeah, sure,” Roxy answered despondently. “But how about a drink first? Come on, I’ll buy you one.”

 

“You’ll buy me five,” Charlie said bitterly, as they walked past where Harry was standing, both carrying duffel bags. “I need to get drunk.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Roxy sighed, shifting the weight of her sports bag over her shoulder. The two Kingsmen disappeared around the corner, and Harry felt safe poking his head out, and stepping around the corner.

 

He walked down the hall, turning his head back to check if anyone was still around, but the players’ footsteps were getting farther and father away. He walked hesitantly up to the door of the locker room and knocked lightly.

 

“Come in,” a low voice said, and Harry stepped inside. And there was Eggsy sitting on one of the benches, looking as dejected as Harry had ever seen him. He looked up briefly and something dark passed over his face before he looked down at the floor again, where a large puddle was gathering beneath him from his sodden uniform.

 

“Thought you was Merlin,” he muttered, one hand rubbing his knee, presumably the one he’d fallen on.

 

“I’m afraid not,” Harry said. A few seconds ticked by, and Harry took in Eggsy’s uniform. When Charlie and Roxy had left the locker room, they’d been in loose blouses and jeans, their hair shower-damp, looking exhausted but clean. Eggsy was still in his sopping uniform, pink scrapes all over him, hair in a wet disaster. He looked like a drowned rat and Harry’s heart tugged slightly. He didn’t think Eggsy had moved since he’d been sent off. By Harry.

 

“You haven’t changed, I see,” said Harry, nodding at Eggsy’s uniform that was dripping all over the tiles.

 

Eggsy shrugged. “Unlike you,” he said, casting a perfunctory glance at Harry’s own tailored suit and glasses that he’d put back on, as quickly as the opportunity had come. He hated contacts.

 

Another moment of silence went by, and seeing that Eggsy wasn’t making any other efforts to acknowledge him, Harry walked a little further into the room, looking down at the space beside Eggsy on the bench.

 

“May I sit down?” he asked.

 

Eggsy gave an entirely humourless snort. “Knock yourself out, bruv.”

 

Harry seated himself gracefully beside Eggsy. They sat in silence for a few minutes until finally Harry half-turned to Eggsy.

 

“If you’re expecting me to apologize -” he said in a low voice.

 

“You fucking red-carded me!” Eggsy exclaimed, finally turning to look at Harry head-on, his eyes flashing.

 

“Because you gave me no other choice!” Harry shot back.

 

“Course you had a choice,” Eggsy said derisively. “You coulda given it to that fucking _psycho_ for tripping me up, not to mention the shit she was saying.”

 

“Oh what, Miss Norman?” Harry said. “Yes, a nasty piece of work I agree. But come _on_ Eggsy, tackling another player for simply trash-talking? I’d have thought you were above that.”

 

“Yeah well, you must have been wrong then,” Eggsy said nastily.

 

“Look I came in to see how you were doing,” Harry said, standing up. “But if you think I’m wrong to do so, then I’ll be going. Goodbye, Eggsy.”

 

He was halfway to the door when Eggsy called after him.

 

“You don’t fucking get it, Harry.”

 

Harry turned slightly at how pained the lad sounded, none of his usual cocksure tone in his voice.

 

“What don’t I get, Eggsy?” he said, not turning around fully.

 

“Just – just wait,” Eggsy said, practically sounding desperate. “Please.”

 

Harry turned slowly back to him, where Eggsy was sitting meekly on the bench, hunched in on himself.

 

“Since you asked politely,” Harry said lightly, going back to sit beside Eggsy again.

 

Eggsy was still looking down, and Harry thought it was because he was unable to meet his eyes. Then he realized Eggsy was staring at his knee, and obviously picturing the faded, twisted scar that ran across it, underneath the pinstripes. He was just resisting the impulse to cover it with his hand when he heard Eggsy say in a low voice:

 

“That should have been me.”

 

Harry had no idea what Eggsy was talking about. But before he could ask, Eggsy turned to look at him with eyes that were rapidly growing as red and wet as his skin.

 

“It should have been me. But me mum…” Eggsy broke off and took a deep shuddering breath.

 

“What is it, Eggsy?” Harry asked gently.

 

“It were me stepdad. Bout ten years ago now. He ain’t…he ain’t in the picture anymore. My mum had finally decided to ditch him, but not before he…before he…”

 

Eggsy sniffed and quickly coughed to hide the sound, and Harry felt a growing feeling of unease, not even sure if he wanted to hear the rest. But Eggsy drew himself up, dashing the back of his across his eyes, continuing.

 

“He never liked me,” Eggsy said matter-of-factly. “And when I came home and saw my mum, beaten up on the kitchen floor I went for him. But he decided to go the extra mile and grab a carving knife. He had me on the floor. I was a lot skinnier when I was a teen,” he added quickly, almost apologetically, as though to explain why his stepfather, a _grown man_ could have gotten the better of him in a fight. Harry felt sick.

 

“Anyway he lifted the knife, said something like ‘let’s see you play football now’ and swung it down like he wanted to cut it off. But at that point my mum rolled on top of me and he got her knee instead. And left her with a nasty scar and a hell of a lot of nerve damage. She’s still got the leg, but she hasn’t walked the same since,” Eggsy said, biting his lip. “And how the _fuck_ does that psycho know about that?” he added darkly.

 

Harry drew in a deep breath, jaw clenched. Because in an instant he fully understood some of Eggsy’s behavior. The way the lad had been eyeing Harry’s knee in their first match in a way that looked like more than just morbid fascination. How cross he’d been when Harry had bumped into his leg on their first encounter. And how genuinely panicked he’d seemed after being fouled by Gazelle on that very same leg. And of course, how he’d snapped given the nature of the girl’s taunts.

 

“Don’t you get it?” Eggsy pleaded. “I _can’t_ get injured. I can’t let anything happen to me, otherwise my mum would be a cripple for _nothing_. Everything she did would have been for fuck all, wouldn’t it?”

 

“What your mother did,” Harry said severely. “Was endanger you and your sister by putting you in that situation. I’m not saying she deserved what happened, nor will you ever hear me say that. But you were _certainly_ not the one who should have paid for that man’s actions.”

 

Harry hesitated, and without being entirely sure of the motion, he placed his hand on Eggsy’s knee, smooth and unmarked. “You’re fine, Eggsy. As you should be.”

 

Eggsy gave a start at Harry’s fingers around his leg, but he quickly deflated.

 

“Well not really,” he said darkly. “Since I’ve gone and fucked it up for all of us, haven’t I?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Harry said. “There are still two more rounds of the semi-finals. Depending on who wins against Middleborough in tomorrow’s match, you still have a chance to stay in the semis.”

 

“Well that’s great news,” Eggsy said sarcastically. “Considering my own team doesn’t even want to look at me anymore. I’ve fucking ruined it.”

 

“They’ll come around,” Harry said confidently. “They’re angry now, but you’re their captain.”

 

“For now,” Eggsy muttered darkly.

 

“You’re their captain,” Harry repeated firmly. “And if you apologize they’ll listen to you. What are you so scared of?”

 

“ _Everything_!” Eggsy finally burst out. “I’m scared that Merlin’s gonna figure out he never should have put some chav from the estates on his team and cut me and make Roxy captain. I’m scared Roxy’s never gonna want to speak to me again,” his voice caught. “And that the rest of the team starts avoiding me too once they see she wants nuffing to do with me. I’m scared the media will decide they’ve had enough of the ‘funny bloke who talks rough’ and write that the ‘joke’s over, folks’, and maybe he shouldn’t have been let into the big leagues after all,” Eggsy said viciously, although the effect was sort of compromised by his voice breaking, every bottled-up worry of his flooding out.

 

Harry was lost on this, but Eggsy just looked at Harry, rainwater or more likely tears still clinging to his eyelashes, green eyes rimmed with red, wet sandy hair sticking out in every direction, paler than usual in the locker room’s lighting, freckles standing out like ink. Harry put his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and Eggsy just gazed at him helplessly.

 

“And then it’ll only be a matter of time before I’m turned out of football, got nothing left, and my mum gets hooked on painkillers again, only this time I won’t have the money to bribe the rehab facility to keep quiet, like I did last time…”

 

Eggsy finally broke off into a sob. “Sorry, sorry,” he said angrily, and made as though to stand up. But Harry’s hand firmly pressed his shoulder down, and before Harry knew what he was doing he was drawing Eggsy into an embrace, wrapping his arms around Eggsy’s frame that was shivering in equal parts from grief and cold.

 

Eggsy made a muffled noise of surprise against Harry’s chest, but Harry just rubbed his back. He felt Eggsy’s arms go around his waist, hesitantly at first, and then tightening around Harry as though he were trying to hold on for dear life.

 

Harry thought he heard Eggsy mumble something against his chest. “What was that?”

 

Eggsy straightened up, and gave Harry a watery smile, placing a hand on the man’s jaw. “Said I’m scared of you too.”

 

Harry gaped at him. “I scare you?”

 

Eggsy’s eyes were serious as he looked at Harry. He brushed a thumb over Harry’s chin and his smile dropped, Harry’s heart going with it.

 

“Harry Hart, you fucking _terrify_ me.”

 

Harry couldn’t have told you who moved first. But as if by some invisible urge, both were falling forward, arms reaching out, and before Harry knew it their faces were pressing clumsily together, kissing like their lives depended on it.

 

Eggsy gasped against Harry’s lips, and Harry felt the sound in every single nerve. He turned his head to feel more of Eggsy’s mouth against his, and the second their lips slid together, the sheer relief of feeling Eggsy’s lips parting beneath his was practically sickening, like a cold blast of air that wiped everything else in Harry’s mind.

 

“Oh Eggsy,” Harry couldn’t help breathing, and Eggsy made a pained, hungry sound as he leaned back in, roughly capturing Harry’s mouth again, kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, as he lifted shaky hands to desperately grip the sides of Harry’s face.

 

Harry moaned, a low, feral sound that he had no idea he was going to make, and his arms wrapped around Eggsy again, gently, despite the magnitude of feeling that had risen up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep them both over the edge. He tightened his arms around Eggsy, fingers gripping his jersey, clutching fistfuls of the damp cloth. And he almost _fainted_ when Eggsy pulled back, only to kiss Harry’s jaw, his cheek, his face, again and again, his wet hair brushing Harry’s skin, leaving trails of droplets that Harry could feel in his bones.

 

Eggsy slipped a damp, freezing hand into Harry’s shirt, palm over Harry’s heart, as he mouthed at the man’s neck, kissing it and biting it anywhere he could reach, as though he were just desperately trying to work his way into every part of Harry’s body at once.

 

Harry slid a hand through the lad’s hair and yanked him back up, harder than he’d intended. But Eggsy only breathed heavily in want, and Harry bent down to capture his mouth again. Eggsy’s mouth opened eagerly, lips soft under Harry’s, practically _melting_ into him. Harry shuddered and tried to pull Eggsy against him _harder_ , running his hands through Eggsy’s hair, down his neck, over the boys arms, cataloguing every dip and curve of warm muscle, wanting to absorb every single part of him down to the last atom.

 

He kissed Eggsy again, rubbing their foreheads together, and pulled back breathlessly, eyes roaming over the lad’s wide, bright, but almost dazed eyes, his flushed lips, the faintest stain of pink over his cheeks, the way he was getting back some colour, the boy’s throat a column of gold that dipped into the collar of his royal blue Kingsmen jersey…

 

Harry pulled back as if burned, faintly registering the spark of confusion in the boy’s eyes.

 

“Eggsy, I –“ he began, unable to look at him. “I apologize,” he finally said to the bench.

 

“What for?” Eggsy said, breathing hard.

 

Harry looked up at Eggsy, whose eyes were blown wide. He bit his lip, clocking the way Eggsy’s eyes tracked the motion hungrily.

 

“For _this_ ,” he said, gesturing obviously at Eggsy’s uniform. “I’m afraid this puts us in a rather awkward position.”

 

“Right,” Eggsy breathed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, ruffling it up, a few stray droplets falling on Harry’s legs. He let his hand fall back to the bench where it landed with a desolate thump. Eggsy stared at it. “Well fuck.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Harry sighed.

 

“Thought you said there’s always a loophole,” Eggsy said, with a sad smile. Harry looked at it and felt his heart splintering. He reached out to stroke Eggsy’s bottom lip, letting the way the lad’s breath hitched fill him.

 

“Trust me when I say I’ll be actively looking for one,” Harry murmured. A slow grin spread across Eggsy’s face, pushing up Harry’s thumb with the curve. Harry delivered one last stroke to the lad’s face, before pulling his hand back and placing it on Eggsy’s shoulder.

 

“But nonetheless I probably shouldn’t stay,” he said gently.

 

“But why?” Eggsy asked as his smile dropped slightly, as though it were about to dip into a pout. Harry suppressed a smile as he looked at Eggsy softly.

 

“Because this is neither the time nor place,” he explained. “You’ve gone through a lot today, and I’m hardly going to take advantage of you when you’re feeling…” Harry waved his hand around absently. “…vulnerable.”

 

Eggsy nodded seriously, before sending Harry a sly look. “So when _are_ you going to take advantage of me?”

 

Harry dug his fingers sharply in Eggsy’s shoulder. “Cheeky,” he murmured, fighting down a laugh at the lad’s yelp. He rubbed the lad’s shoulder gently before standing up from the bench.

 

“It’s late. You should have a shower and go home, be with your family. I’m sure they’ll want to see you.”

 

Eggsy sighed. “Yeah you’re probably right,” he said tiredly.

 

“And Eggsy,” Harry said, and Eggsy glanced up. “As for your other worries…talk to Merlin and Miss Morton,” he said gently. “I have the utmost confidence they’ll forgive you.”

 

“If they even still want anything to do with me,” Eggsy muttered, looking down at the floor. And despite every line in his body looking so defeated, the lad nonetheless squared his shoulders and sat up straight, eyes lost but chin determined, and Harry felt his heart ache.

 

“Oh my dear boy,” he said, lost beyond all hope. “How could they not.”

 

Eggsy looked up at him softly, looking choked up. Finally he cleared his throat. “So when will I see you?” he asked roughly.

 

Harry thought. “Tomorrow is the second game of the semi-finals, so I’ll have my hands full with that. If Middleborough wins against the Crimsons, then you’ll play them in round three of the semis. If they don’t…”

 

Eggsy bit his lip. “Then we’re out of the Cup,” he said sullenly. But he pulled himself together and looked at Harry as brightly as he could. “Then fingers crossed that the next time I see you, it’s ‘cause I’m playing in round three, yeah?” he said ironically.

 

Harry smiled. “I sincerely hope so, my boy,” he said, reaching out to cup Eggsy’s cheek. Eggsy turned his face into Harry’s hand on reflex, his hair brushing rainwater over Harry’s knuckles as he pressed a kiss to Harry’s palm.

 

“Careful,” Harry said faintly. “I’m getting weak at the knees, and I only have one good one left, you know.”

 

Eggsy snorted as he looked up at Harry, eyes sparkling. “You know that was corny as hell, bruv?”

 

Harry shrugged, with a small smile. “I know.” He stroked Eggsy’s chin one last time, turned on his heel and left the locker room.

 

He walked through the hallways as though in a daze, taking the corners on autopilot. Only when he got out of the maze of corridors and back onto the pitch and into the night, did he allow himself to lean against back against the wall of the stadium, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath.

 

He leaned there until his breathing had returned to normal, and he finally opened his eyes. The glare from the stadium floodlights burned into him, and he stared at them as long as he could manage, finally turning away with black, pooling spots dancing in his eyes. He blinked rapidly a few times, let them settle, and then strode across the deserted field. It was no longer raining and his feet crinkled the damp astroturf.

 

As he walked across the field in a stupor, he suddenly found Merlin’s words coming back to him.

 

_You’d like Eggsy if you knew him. I’m sure of it._

Harry let out an ungainly snort. For once in his life, Merlin was wrong about something.

 

Because now that Harry knew him, he didn’t just _like_ Eggsy. 

 

In fact, he was starting to come to the rather unfortunate conclusion that he just might be in love with him.

 

Harry groaned and rubbed his temples. Christ almighty. This was going to be a cockup of formidable proportions.

 

And with a deep sigh he straightened up, placed his umbrella back over his arm, adjusted his tie, and continued walking under the dark sky. He made his way towards the far end of the field, across the wet turf. And with an empty pitch behind him and lord-knows-what in front of him, Harry kept walking until he was out of the field, out of the spotlights, and his figure was eventually swallowed up by the night.

 

 

 

 

**End of Part 1**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you guys enjoy the update! I actually can't believe I managed to finish this chapter before my flight haha. So like I mentioned, I'm off in a day to go live across the world for a year and will likely be in a flurry of settling in and getting adjusted and all that. But I will *definitely* be back! And hopefully it'll be sooner rather than later, since I know I'm for sure having fun with this story haha. Thank you guys again, and you're all the best:) xo


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......oh hi, 9 months later! Turns out moving across the world and working full time is even busier than originally expected haha. I for sure missed this fic though! So if anyone is still invested in this a) wOW thank you haha, b) here, have chapter 6! Definitely looking forward to finishing the rest sometime in 2016:P

 

 

 

Eggsy woke up with a head that seemed to be full of nails. Keeping his eyes squeezed shut he groaned at the way his brain seemed to be pounding against the front of his skull, trying to crack its way out. He flung an arm out on instinct to turn off the alarm he set in his mobile phone, realizing belatedly that the ringing he was hearing was just in his ears.

 

 _Practice_ , he thought in a panic, sitting bolt upright in a tangle of sheets, only to clutch his forehead in a fit of agony, a million nerve endings throbbing at the sudden movement. Once the crackling in his head had died down, he remembered no practice this morning. The days after a tournament were traditionally ‘for reflection’, as decreed by Merlin. Players took the day off so they wouldn’t get dull or burnt out, and later in the day, Merlin and his team captains would reconvene for a strategy meeting.

 

These meetings were generally spent in Merlin’s living room, Roxy and Eggsy in sweats as they pored over the rosters and diagrams that spilled over the man’s coffee table. They’d have long discussions about team performance and morale, punctuated with their pleas for Merlin to make them his homemade hot chocolate. Merlin never admitted it, but Roxy and Eggsy were sure he made it with cream, making it one of the few times he ever let them off their training diets.

 

Normally these evenings were the highlight of Eggsy’s time as captain. But now the thought of facing his coach and co-captain after last night just made him sick.

 

Last night…

 

Eggsy could barely lift his head for how ashamed he felt. Tackled another player, gone off at the ref, and generally acted like an all-around hoodlum. There were people out there who thought some rough-and-tumble bloke from the projects wasn’t cut out to be captain of one of England’s premiere leagues, and well, Eggsy had just gone and proved them right, hadn’t he?

 

He’d thought for a minute that it might work out okay. For one brief, surreal moment, there in the locker room, when Harry had reassured him, had comforted had…had kissed him.

 

Eggsy stood up abruptly, ignoring the way the room was spinning, and headed over to his bathroom as calmly as he could, never mind the fact that his heart had started racing again.

 

He’d…he kissed the ref. He’d kissed Harry Hart. Harry Hart his _ref_. Harry Hart his childhood hero who was now his referee in one of the biggest tournaments of Eggsy’s life, and there was just so much fucking ridiculousness here that Eggsy didn’t even know where to start. What the hell even _was_ last night?

 

“Clusterfuck,” Eggsy mumbled to himself as he stepped into his walk-in shower, absently turning it on full blast. He sunk to the floor, too tired to stand up properly, and let the hot water drum over his forehead and sluice its way down over his body. His head was still aching, but at least it wasn’t in the ‘flipped out when I got home and drank so much that I blacked out before remembering to drink water and now I’m dehydrated and every part of my body hates me for it’ kind of way. Just the ‘I let down my entire team, lost my temper, jumped another player, lost my head completely, flipped out, kissed the referee, and went home so confused and adrift and scared at what was going to happen to me that I cried until I fell asleep’ kind of way. Which Eggsy supposed wasn’t much better really.

 

Eggsy bit his lip, keeping his eyes closed, enjoy the way the water felt almost like a massage on his aching eyelids. God he was so bloody tired, and in a way that went beyond running up and down a pitch for hours everyday. He loved being a team captain, he really did, but god just…the responsibility sometimes made him _exhausted_. Maybe it would be a relief to just…resign.

 

Eggsy’s stomach clenched. It wouldn’t be as though he were leaving the team or anything, he wouldn’t be letting them down in that way. He would just step down from leading. Hey, it wasn’t like he was doing a bang-up job at the moment…getting in fights, kissing refs, yeah nice role-modeling, Unwin, stellar leadership qualities right there.

 

Pushing down the feelings of hurt that the thought had inspired, Eggsy stood up, turning the shower off, refusing to think about it. He gave himself a half-hearted toweling off, pulling on some clean clothes back in his room, pointedly ignoring his football jersey which was hanging out of his laundry hamper, still damp from last night’s rainstorm.

 

He made his way over to the small, private elevator in his flat that went directly to the one beneath his. He’d originally wanted stairs to connect the two apartments, the idea of a _private fucking elevator_ seeming ridiculously extravagant at first. But then he’d quickly remembered how much easier the elevator would be on his mum, should she ever want to come upstairs and check on Eggsy. Last night he’d gone straight home without seeing his mum or Daisy but he knew he’d have to face them eventually.

 

The elevator dinged its arrival on Michelle’s floor and Eggsy walked into the main living area, which was empty. As gloomy as Eggsy felt, his stomach still perked up in interest when he smelled bacon and eggs. Following his nose to the kitchen, he cleared his throat before entering.

 

“Morning,” he said awkwardly. Michelle looked up from the stove and Daisy waved from her high chair. She was really getting too big for that now.

 

“Morning, babes,” Michelle said carefully, a note of sympathy still managing to creep in as she took in her son’s dejected air. “Hungry?”

 

“Yeah starving,” Eggsy said gratefully, as he pulled up a chair. He didn’t miss the way Michelle casually flipped over the front page of the newspaper on the counter beside her. Eggsy grimaced. He didn’t have to sneak a peak to know that it was probably a photo of him tackling that ‘Gazelle’ into the turf, complete with an all-caps headline like ‘FOOTBALL STAR ATTACKS LEAGUE’S FIRST DISABLED PLAYER!’ Michelle cracked another four eggs into the pan, where she was scrambling eggs for her and Daisy.

 

“Eggsy?” Daisy chirped from her end of the table. Eggsy glanced up to where she was looking at him anxiously.

 

“Morning, petal,” he said, giving her a half-smile.

 

“Are you angry?” she said in the careful way of a kid who is still learning to put sentences together.

 

“No, love, I’m not angry.” Eggsy sighed. “Just disappointed and all.”

 

“Oh,” said Daisy, eyebrows bunching together, creating the tiniest of wrinkles in her smooth forehead. “Not angry?”

 

Eggsy looked at her properly, her trembling lip, and comprehension dawned.

 

“What? _No_ , luv, not angry at all. No one’s angry. If I were angry,” Eggsy said, adopting a tone way more cheerful than he felt, “could I blow you a kiss from _all_ the way over here?” he asked, smacking his palm loudly, and blowing theatrically across the kitchen table. Daisy giggled, and Eggsy’s heart clenched. Kids were like rubber, and he knew that soon enough Daisy would bounce back and soon forget that she was ever scared of men who raised their voices. Daisy didn’t know why she sometimes automatically winced whenever someone looked upset or raised their voice, but Eggsy bloody well knew why.

 

“Thanks mum,” he said, as Michelle put down a plate of breakfast in front of him. He’d suddenly lost his appetite, but his athlete’s metabolism didn’t know that, and he dug in.

 

They all ate breakfast at the square table in relative silence, but there was nothing unusual about that. Another family tradition from fucking Dean, whose frequent hangovers had him cursing a blue streak at anyone who spoke up while he was just “trying to fucking eat breakfast.” They’d started chatting a bit more around the table since their move uptown, but some habits died hard.

 

Eggsy was about to collect the dishes when his mom shook her head at him.

 

“Living room, yeah?” she asked, lifting Daisy out of her chair and depositing her on the ground. Eggsy nodded and went over to the couch, curling up like he was expecting a scolding. But Michelle just followed him, rubbing his hair lightly before sitting down next to him.

 

“What’s wrong, luv?” she said quietly. And it was the simple sincerity of the question that had Eggsy almost welling up again. If he hadn’t cried his eyes out last night, he probably would have burst out crying again from the tender concern in his mum’s tired-looking face.

 

“I messed up,” he said in a small voice. Any bigger and it might have cracked.

 

“I know,” she nodded. “And it’s okay.”

 

“No it’s not bloody okay,” Eggsy scoffed, relieved to have a reason to feel hostile instead of pathetic.

 

“Yeah it really is,” Michelle said. She held up her hand so Eggsy wouldn’t interrupt her. “It’s not okay what you did. But you recognize it. A lot quicker than most do when they mess up,” she added quietly.

 

“Mum, I jumped another player,” Eggsy said in disbelief. It was something he’d never been even _remotely_ tempted to do, not even in his most temperamental football playing days.

 

“Maybe I’m missing something, but doesn’t that happen in every single football game I’ve ever seen?” Michelle asked skeptically.

 

“Not to me,” Eggsy said bitterly. “I’m supposed to…I’m supposed to be better. I’m supposed to be the example.”

 

“And what, those people can’t mess up too?” Michelle asked. “I was supposed to be your ‘example’ after your dad died,” she said, and Eggsy looked up in surprise. Michelle smiled sadly. “And I haven’t exactly done a bang-up job of that, have I?”

 

“Mum you -” Eggsy closed his mouth. He’d been about to automatically say, “You did fine”, but that wasn’t strictly the truth was it? Not so long as his baby sister was still flinching at the breakfast table surrounded by the people who took care of her.

 

Instead her squeezed her knee, the good one. “You did better. You did the right thing in the end.”

 

“And are you?” Michelle asked, placing her hand atop her son’s. “Gonna do the right thing in the end, that is? Because I’m telling you now, babes, it doesn’t matter what you did yesterday. Just how you’re going to face it today.”

 

Eggsy couldn’t help it. One stubborn tear forced its way out.

 

“We all mess up, hun,” his mum said kindly. “Some of us worse than others.”

 

“But it’s everything I’ve been working towards, mum,” Eggsy said, absolutely refusing to sniff, opting instead to casually drag his hand across his nose. “It’s gonna go, just like that!”

 

“You gonna let it?” Michelle asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

 

Eggsy mumbled something, and Michelle yanked his chin up. “I _said_ : Are You Going To Let It, mister?”

 

Eggsy stared at her wide-eyed, and then suddenly burst out laughing, because _fuck_ if his mom didn’t sound exactly like Rox when she was trying to amp them up for a game.

 

“Nah,” he finally said quietly, but he was smiling his first real smile of the morning.

 

“Good,” Michelle said, leaning forward and giving him a squeeze, which he allowed. “And Eggsy?” she said, as he stood to get up. “Even though sometimes it can feel like you’ve lost everything, you can still get it back,” she said, nodding meaningfully to the apartment her son had bought for her, and at Daisy who’d just toddled over towards them. She scooped her up and smiled at Eggsy. “That’s what happens when you’re lucky enough to be surrounded by people who love you.”

 

 

***

 

Eggsy made his way up the front steps of Merlin’s townhouse, trepidation building with each one. He’d been feeling better earlier in the day. He had gone for a long run by the river, hoodie up, shades on, lest someone recognizing him, ignoring any news kiosks for fear of seeing himself on them. But despite any lingering nerves, the run had done him good, and so had his second shower of the day, both of them giving him a clearer mindset.

 

But now he stood on Merlin’s stoop and suddenly felt like the same, insecure, footballer he’d been at his first ever practice all over again. Chin up but heart thumping, surrounded by posh players, with Merlin being the only one in the place who’d given him an encouraging look, given him a chance…

 

A fresh wave of shame swept over Eggsy. The professional sports world was full of tossers and egos the size of football fields. There were a lot of people whose opinions Eggsy didn’t care about. But Merlin had never been one of those people. If you asked Eggsy to choose between dying or disappointing Merlin, he’d actually have to think about it. Merlin had believed in Eggsy, and in turn, Eggsy had paid the man’s efforts back by embarrassing him.

 

The door opened, and Merlin appeared in a rare casual look: jeans, sweater pushed up to the elbows, socked feet. This didn’t mean Eggsy felt any more at ease. But he forced himself to meet the man’s eyes, which were looking at him appraisingly. And voice catching a bit, he said simply:

 

“Merlin, I’m sorry.” And then looked down again, fighting against the sudden blur in his eyes.

 

 Merlin nodded. But then asked: “What’re you doing here, lad?”

 

Eggsy swallowed hard, but he’d already been braced for the worst. He’d fall apart at home. He nodded tersely and was about to turn away, but Merlin caught his elbow.

 

“I mean,” he continued. “What’re you doing here at five? Captains’ meeting is at six, you know that.”

 

“Well I was coming over to…” Eggsy’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened. “Wait, you mean I’m still a…you still want me?” he asked in disbelief.

 

Merlin rolled his eyes but his voice was as gentle as Eggsy had ever heard it when he said: “Course I still do, ye wee tosser. You don’t get off that easy.”

 

Okay fuck falling apart at home, that was happening _now_.

 

Eggsy practically launched himself at the man, eliciting an _oomph_ as he collided with Merlin’s chest, wrapping his arms around him.

 

“You’re the guvnor, Merlin,” he mumbled into his coach’s sweater, voice thick.

 

“Yeah yeah,” said Merlin gruffly, clumsily patting the back of Eggsy’s head. Once he decided they’d been sentimental enough, he delivered a hearty flick to it, ignoring Eggsy’s _‘Ow!_ ’ “Doesn’t mean you’re not a bloody idiot though.”

 

“I know,” Eggsy said, untangling himself and stepping into Merlin’s foyer. He noticed a pair of familiar looking knee-high boots, lined up neatly in the hall next to Merlin's Oxfords. “Roxy here already too?”

 

“Indeed,” said Merlin calmly. And before Eggsy could so much as smirk, Merlin raised an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘ _don’t push your luck_ ’.

 

Eggsy didn’t. But the second Merlin turned around again Eggsy grinned hugely, his second genuine one of the day. If there were ever two unlikely people he was rooting for, their brown leather footwear was already lined up in the hall, side-by-side, like a blooming matched set. He wondered if his coach and co-captain had any idea how much they meant to each other, unlikely as it seemed to those who didn't know them. Knowing the both of them as he did, he _knew_ nothing would ever happen between them as long as they stayed coach and player to each other. Didn't mean he wasn't rooting like hell for them to get it together afterwards though.

 

“Hiya, Rox,” he said tentatively, as he made his way into Merlin’s living room. Roxy was sitting on Merlin’s deep red carpet, pouring over papers on the coffee table, hair down in a rare occurrence. She brushed it to the side as she looked up at him, and Eggsy felt a stab of guilt. Other than Merlin, Roxy’s was the opinion that mattered to him most in the world. He looked around for Merlin, but the man had stepped back into the hall to make a call, or more plausibly, to tactfully give them a minute.

 

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry, yeah?” Eggsy said quietly. “I fucked up. And I promise you it ain’t gonna happen again but I gettit, if you don’t want to be co-captains anymore. But if you still do…I mean…I know I still do,” he said, looking at her earnestly. “But, if you don’t, I mean…I just hope…that we’re still mates. ‘Cause I could stand to lose just about everything _but_ that.”

 

Roxy looked at him a long moment. “You know what the worst part was, Eggs?”

 

Eggsy shook his head, heart sinking. Roxy narrowed her eyes. “I had to go out for drinks with _Charlie_ afterwards,” she said, as Eggsy gaped at her. Her lips quirked up. “Win or lose, it’s supposed to be you there with me.”

 

Eggsy let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Sorry, mate. I mean it.”

 

“I know you do,” she said with a warm smile. “Now get over here and help me write your official apology to the press.” She glanced to the empty spot beside her.Fucking _hell_  Eggsy loved her to pieces. And feeling about a million pounds lighter, Eggsy went over to her right side, just like he did on the field. Roxy gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Eggsy knew that was that. They’d never had to say much to each other to still know what the other one was thinking.

 

Merlin walked back in once they were settled. “I ordered curry, I take it there are no objections?” They shook their heads, and Merlin sat down on the leather couch on the other side of the coffee table from them. “Now then,” he said, and they both straightened up automatically. “As long as you’re both here we might as well get some work done. Eggsy have a look at what Roxy’s written for you, Roxy, if you could pass me the timetable under your binder…”

 

Eggsy reached for a stray pen, his coach’s voice washing around him, his co-captain to his side, busying herself with folders, and had to choke down the lump that had appeared in his throat. To think he might have thrown this away, this familiar routine. Soon the food would get here and they’d be stealing curry off each other’s plates, Merlin denying them the greasy, fat-laden garlic potatoes that came with, but fixing them cocoa later to make up for it. Roxy would be animatedly sketching out plays with her fork, accidentally flicking rice onto Eggsy’s face while he yelped in protest, bemoaning that he was the only professional one in the room. Merlin would sigh at the both of them and be rolling his eyes, but they’d be twinkling from behind his wire-framed glasses, and Eggsy would feel perfectly at home. He’d get to keep this. Because it turns out his mum was right: that’s what happens when you’re lucky enough to be surrounded by people who love you.

 

***

 

Some time later they were all sitting on Merlin’s couch, Roxy’s feet tucked under her, Merlin’s long legs stretched under the coffee table in front of them, Eggsy’s propped up on the table himself. Merlin had glared until Eggsy had raised his feet so Merlin could slide a folder under it. Their work was more or less done. Roxy had come up with a statement that Eggsy could make to the press. Providing they made it to the last round of the semi-finals, she’d had the idea he should apologize, in uniform, briefly but sincerely, before the game was about to start (“If you apologize in your uniform right before a game it’ll look better,” Roxy had said. “People’ll be chomping at the bit for the game to start and just glad to see you, and the public will be much more forgiving. We don’t want a dreary press conference where you’re in a suit, and everyone has time to pick over your words”). And not for the first time did Eggsy marvel at his friend’s natural knack for PR.

 

But of course all this depended on whether they’d make it to the last round of the semi-finals or not. And that is why Eggsy, Roxy, and Merlin were all grouped together on the sofa, watching Merlin’s telly. They looked relaxed enough but anyone watching them would see they were hardly blinking, eyes glued to the players on the screen. Middleborough was facing off against the Chester Crimsons. If they won by two points or more, the Crimsons were out of the tournament, and the Kingsmen still had a chance in the semi-finals. Middleborough was currently one point ahead, which is why Eggsy, Merlin, and Roxy were all watching, hardly breathing, fingers crossed for Middleborough to get just _one more bloody point_.

 

“See how their midfielders mostly use a looping strategy?” Merlin asked, waving a finger in a circle towards the telly. “If we play them you’ll want to be on the lookout for that. Pass backwards if you can, it would throw them off.”

 

Roxy hummed in understanding. “Almost the exact opposite of what the Valentines were doing yesterday. They were side-sweeping a lot, anticipating us.”

 

“Yeah and that’s another thing,” Eggsy said, frowning a little. “I know we mentioned it the other day, but I swear to god it was like they knew our plays, Merlin. They weren’t ‘anticipating’, they just seemed to actually _know_.”

 

“Well we’re public figures, Eggsy,” Merlin murmured, eyes still fixed to the screen, tracking the darting players. “They’ve had ample time to study our past games, see our styles, and plan accordingly. My fault for being predictable.”

 

“But you weren’t being predictable though, were you?” Roxy asked, and it was her turn to frown slightly. “Yesterday’s play was brand new for us, and Eggsy’s right: they did seem to see it coming.”

 

“What are you two saying, the Valentines have been bugging our practice sessions?” Merlin scoffed.

 

“Nah,” said Eggsy, shaking his head. “I think Arthur told ‘em.”

 

Merlin and Roxy’s heads swiveled towards Eggsy in perfect synch, the first time they’d looked away from Merlin’s flatscreen ever since the game started.

 

“ _Arthur_?” asked Roxy in genuine surprise.

 

“I know it sounds crazy,” Eggsy said, voicing a hunch that had been idling in the back of his brain since yesterday. This was the first time he’d actually taken it out to examine it though. But once he voiced it he was so completely sure. “But before the game when I had my captain’s meeting with him, he asked about plays. And I told him what we were planning.” Eggsy shrugged. “Didn’t see what harm it would do, since he’s the owner of Kingsman and all. Oh!” he added, remembering. “Gazelle had a meeting with him right after me! He could have passed it straight along to her.”

 

“I mentioned our plays as well,” Roxy said slowly. “He specifically asked me if we were working on anything new.”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Merlin said calmly. “Why would Arthur give away Kingsman strategy?”

 

“’Cause he’s an arse,” Eggsy said prompty.

 

“Yes he is,” Merlin said. “Not that you heard it from me, of course,” he added drily, at Eggsy and Roxy’s dual sniggers. “But that doesn’t make him a criminal, Eggsy.”

 

Eggsy shrugged again, leaning back against the leather sofa. He felt he should have been more shocked at his own theory, but he wasn’t really surprised by the idea at all. He’d never trusted the man an inch. “Just saying, it’s the best explanation.”

 

“Look here, you two,” Merlin said, lowering the volume as the players on the screen went on a time out. He looked at them seriously. “What I want you both focusing on is your upcoming game –“

 

“KNOCK ON WOOD!” both yelled at him, aghast. Merlin let out a long-suffering sigh, but nonetheless reached out to rap his knuckles twice against the chestnut coffee table.

 

“I’m just saying, I don’t want you two running away with yourselves on a bunch of farfetched theories,” Merlin continued patiently. “For one thing, if _either_ of you voiced this theory outside of this room, you would just look like sore losers, and we don’t need any more hits to our reputation,” he said, directing the last part at Eggsy, who squirmed guiltily. “And secondly, you have your own games to be focusing on, and I won’t have you being distracted with anything behind the scenes. That’s my job not yours, understood?”

 

Eggsy and Roxy made eye-contact and nodded. Merlin leaned back apparently satisfied. He reached for a mug of coffee in front of him and put it to his lips. He hesitated.

 

“Maybe don’t go telling Arthur any more plays though,” he said.

 

“So you _do_ believe it,” Eggsy said gleefully.

 

“I said nothing of the kind,” Merlin said primly, taking a swallow.

 

“You didn’t have to,” Eggsy said smugly. He got up and stretched, having been curled up on the floor for most of the evening. Keeping one eye on the TV he strolled over to Merlin’s fireplace, absently looking over the mantle. It was draped with a blue and green plaid sash, Merlin’s family’s tartan. On it stood an assortment of football trophies and framed photographs. Eggsy’s eyes fell on one and he picked it up slowly.

 

Merlin and…Harry. About twenty years younger. They were both in their football uniforms, but it wasn’t an official photograph. Their arms were slung about each other, Harry apparently trying to tug down Merlin’s ear. Merlin appeared to be mid-swat, laughing at his friend, while Harry grinned at the camera. Eggsy’s heart lurched sideways. He’d put that…that kiss pretty much out of his head for the whole day. He’d had so many other worries and besides, he’d been starting to half-suspect that he’d dreamt the whole thing: Harry coming to him in the locker room after the game, Harry holding him as Eggsy wept his biggest fears to a man he hardly knew and yet seemed to know so well, Harry kissing him, Harry _kissing_ him…

 

Eggsy’s index reached out on its own accord, brushing the grainy photo. He swallowed. “You’ve known Harry Hart a while, yeah Merlin?” he asked as casually as he could, without turning around.

 

“Mmm hmm,” said Merlin. “Why do you ask?”

 

Eggsy bit his lip. “Is he…I mean is he the kind of person…” but trailed off. What _could_ he ask? _“Does he mean it when he kisses someone?_ ” or _“Does he often go about making everyone around him weak at the knees with tender words and heartfelt promises?”_ or _“Do you think anything could really happen with us?_ ” But of course he couldn’t voice any of this. He already instinctively knew the answers to the first two questions: ‘yes’ and ‘no’, respectively. But as for the third…

 

Merlin, naturally unsuspecting, thought Eggsy was just worried about having lost his temper at his referee the other day. “I wouldn’t worry about it Eggsy. Takes a lot more than a ‘fuck you’ to rattle Harry Hart. He’s not gonna hold it against you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

It wasn’t, but Eggsy wasn’t gonna push it. “Yeah alright then,” he said amiably, heading back to sit on the couch. Merlin had turned the volume up, and the two teams, Middleborough and the Crimsons were both back from their time out. Dark red and sky blue jerseys were both spilling out onto the pitch, and in the middle of it all, a pillar of black, Harry Hart.

 

Why doesn’t the cameraman do a bloody close-up, Eggsy thought pathetically, eyeing the tiny figure in black. It had only been one day, but somehow it felt like it had been forever since he’d seen Harry’s face.

 

And like the TV set had heard him, there was Harry, full-screen, eyes focused, silver whistle clamped between those lips, and oh god, Eggsy really didn’t need to be thinking about the man’s lips now, not when he knew how they felt against his, like Harry was water, and Eggsy was parched, and kissing him somehow soothed and burned at the same time.

 

The whistle blew, and the two teams rushed the ball, the Crimsons desperate to catch up in the remaining five minutes, and Middleborough desperate to keep their lead. The people on the couch not only wanted them to keep the lead, but to score once more, pushing the Crimsons out of the tournament. Then the Kingsmen could take their place.

 

“Come on,” Roxy muttered, as one of the sky blue figures caught the ball on his chest, rolling it down to his foot where he whipped it to the players further up the field, who advanced it even further with two spectacular headers in a row.

 

Merlin whistled from his spot on the couch. “They’re good.”

 

“Fucking right,” said Eggsy appreciatively, unaware of how tightly his fingers were gripping the couch. “Their goalie is a beast too.”

 

“Mmm,” agreed Merlin. “He’d be tough for you guys to get around,” he said, and Roxy’s jaw tightened, a stress response to a goal she hadn’t even taken yet.

 

The Crimsons had managed to get the ball back down to the middle of the field, with only a minute on the clock. They all sighed. As good as Middleborough were, it didn’t look like they’d get any more scoring opportunities in this game. They’d still win, and would go once more in the semi-finals, and then probably be up against the Valentines in the final. And the Kingsmen would be watching in the stands. Eggsy’s heart sank. They’d won tournaments before, they were sure to win more in the years to come, but that didn’t take the sting out of not being able to compete. They were athletes, and games were what they itched for.

 

“Oi!” Roxy yelled, and Merlin and Eggsy leaned forward. One of the blue players was on a _rip_ , having gotten the ball out of the middle and was tearing up the field on a genuine breakaway. He was flanked by his forwards, any red jerseys firmly in their dust.

 

“Go!” Eggsy hollered at the figure. He heard Roxy on the other side of Merlin muttering “don’t trip don’t trip don’t trip”, as all three leaned forward, rising up out of their seats.

 

“Pass the ball!” Eggsy yelled at the screen.

 

“No don’t pass it, _shoot_!” Roxy shouted back.

 

“ _Pass then shoot_!” Merlin bellowed, not taking his eyes off the player.

 

The player seemed to hear all of them. He passed the ball to his left where it flew in an arch to the left forward. The goalie dived left, but the left forward kicked the ball back to the center instead. The original player booted the ball into an empty net and the whistle blew.

 

“YES!” all three shouted. Roxy and Eggsy hooted with exuberance, as though they’d been the ones to score the goal. Eggsy punched Merlin’s arm and Roxy clasped his hand unconsciously and they both tried to get him to jump with him in celebration because “We’re playing in the semis, Merlin!”

 

“Yeah don’t look too excited,” said Merlin, a huge grin betraying his dry words. “They’re the ones you have to beat next, and based on that game, they’ll be giving you a run for your money.”

 

“Pssht,” Eggsy said, waving away Merlin’s concern. “Easy.”

 

“ _Knock on wood_ ,” it was Roxy and Merlin’s turn to shout in unison. Eggsy did, but he was still grinning broadly. He turned back to the TV, and as if timed to his gaze, the camera cut from the pile of sky blue Middleborough players leaping in celebration to Harry, composed and shaking hands with the coaches. Eggsy wasn’t sure since the camera wasn’t close enough, but did it look like Harry was smiling ever so slightly? Was he possibly celebrating that the Kingsmen were still in the running? Eggsy felt warm at the thought.

 

“Alright you two, you’re gonna help me clean this up, send out a group message to the team to let them know there’s officially a practice tomorrow, and then it’s straight off to bed,” said Merlin, sounding for all the world like their mother. “I want you rested and in tip-top shape for Saturday, because it’s the _semis_ ,” he said almost reverently. He gave Roxy's hand - which he was still holding - a squeeze, and then untangled it to start straightening up the mess on the antique coffee table.

 

Eggsy bent over the table and started to help Merlin in stacking their plates, and collecting the cardboard takeaway boxes their curry had come in. Roxy whipped out her phone to message the rest of the team who was no doubt watching the match as well, telling them congratulations and when to be at practice tomorrow.

 

Eggsy straightened up and caught another glimpse of Harry on the big screen, walking across the turf. He felt his heart start thudding. Whether it was in anticipation of being back on that same turf in two days time, or if it was reacting to the man striding across it Eggsy couldn’t say. But either way, when it came to winning either, the game was _on_.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

It was an absolutely perfect Saturday, and conditions for the last round of the semi-finals couldn’t possibly be better. At least that’s what Harry thought as he arrived at the stadium. He strode across the plaza towards the stadium’s main entrance and took a moment to stop and just take in the whole scene. People running by waving flags underneath the clear blue sky, the pre-game pop music pulsing out of the stadium with the bass thudding through the speakers and sending jolts up through everyone’s bodies, the smell of hotdogs and popcorn wafting from the stalls outside, and people pouring into the scene from all walks of life. There were families going by, hurrying along their kids, some parents opting to carry the kids on their shoulders instead. There were the usual ‘lads’ aka grown men gleefully leaping by, yelling friendly obscenities at each other, giving their airhorns a test run, already a couple of pints deeps. There were groups of college students taking a break from exams and enjoying a day under the hot sun, letting the noise of the crowd, the beer sloshing in plastic cups, and the exhilaration of the day wash through them as they let themselves unwind. And the _colours_. The royal blue and sky blue of the two opposing semi-finalists were draped on every single body, whether by jersey, scarf, or flag. The effect was one rippling sea of blue, undulating and pulsing with the flow of the crowd. Harry thought if he looked at it long enough he might get swept away.

 

The man felt a quick tug in his chest. He remembered these days so well. It had been twenty years since he’d played for the league, and he could still hear the cheers and hoots of the crowd like it was yesterday. It wasn’t about the fame or the recognition. It was about being a part of something bigger than any one person present. For a few brief hours, these thousands of people all pouring into the stadium would be linked by a force they might not necessarily understand, but they could sure as hell _feel_ it when it was happening. It was never just ‘a football game’. Get enough people in the same room, with that much joy and energy in them, all equally blood-pumpingly enthusiastic about being a part of the same thing, the result was something almost…musical.

 

And even though Harry was here to effectively play the ‘bad guy’ as head referee and had to maintain a degree of stern impartiality, he couldn’t help but feel touched by the magic surrounding him.

 

He couldn’t linger however. Even though he wasn’t in his football gear yet and it would take people longer to twig to the posh bloke in the suit as former football star Harry Hart, he was bound to be recognized sooner or later. He made a wide sweep of the stadium’s front terrace, and went down a side route to get to the stadium’s inner underground network. He’d been given a temporary office there for his referee duties, and he’d use it to get changed.

 

Rounding a curve in the path he’d taken, he stopped when he made out the faint but unmistakable sound of shutters. He spotted a small cluster of reporters, some with heavy video cameras propped up on their shoulders, others with camera lenses aimed at two figures in royal blue, standing against the plain but attractive backdrop of the stadium’s decorative garden. One of the cameramen dropped their shoulder and through a gap in the cluster Harry could make out Roxy Morton, hands clasped behind her back, standing straight, listening to someone on her left. And taking another step, Harry saw…

 

…Eggsy. Speaking into a microphone. Making an apology to the press for bringing a red card upon himself in his last match. Harry knew it must have been that by the boy’s body language alone. It set the perfect tone. His chin was up like someone facing and accepting responsibility, but not high enough for cockiness. His eyes were serious but never maudlin like someone off on a guilt trip, trying to score sympathy points. His entire composure was one of straightforward maturity, and at one point he glanced at Roxy who gave him a nod. The front they presented to the press was clear: they were standing openly as befitted two people of their public stature, but still in tune with each other. The message was clear: they were on the same side whether they had your approval or not.

 

“Okay that’s all,” Eggsy said after his brief statement. “We all feel it’s time to focus on the games ahead of us.”

 

“The next of which happens to be in an hour, so we’re sure you understand if we get back to our team,” Roxy said with a small smile. She gave the press corps a nod that impressively conveyed both respect and dismissal. The pair turned away and headed down the path in the same way Harry had been going.

 

Seeing the reporters coming his way and start to look up, squinting in recognition at the figure in black, Harry squared his shoulders and prepared to stride through the throng.

 

“Absolutely no questions,” he said curtly, breaking through them, their calls for a comment about the semifinals falling on selectively-deaf ears. Maintaining a referee’s humorless reputation came with its perks, Harry thought grimly. He’d never have gotten away with such a blunt approach to the press back when he was playing for the Kingsmen himself.

 

Continuing down the path he reached the area where it became ‘authorized personnel only’ and nodded at the guard on duty, who let him in immediately. He could still make out the two Kingsmen a little ways ahead of him, sun glinting off the deep blue cloth they wore. His eyes went straight to the red 10 on Eggsy’s back, which rippled with the movement of him reaching out to tap the girl on the shoulder. He said something to her and she nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze, and going on ahead.

 

Harry stopped, wondering why Eggsy had, and he watched as the boy quickly raised the heels of his hands to his eyes, bending his head down. He didn’t seem to be crying at all, just pressing down, briefly blocking out any outside world, centering himself. He then looked up, eyes closed, and seemed to take a breath from inside his very soul, face raised to the sun, its light dappling him, wreathing him in gold as he took another deep breath, his mouth moving almost imperceptibly. Thanking someone?

 

And then the lines of his body relaxed, as Eggsy came fully back to himself and his normal posture, but somehow something had changed. He looked both grounded but positively thrumming with some unseen energy, some drive that Harry could practically feel, even standing away where he was. And then Eggsy opened his eyes and they fell directly on Harry, and Harry felt a roaring in his ears as everything around him suddenly became sucked into the background, and the force of everything he suspected he’d been feeling for Eggsy all rushing together and exploding outwards, like Harry’s heart wanted to rip its way out of his chest to be nearer the man in front of him.

 

Eggsy could probably _see_ the tremors passing through Harry’s body, if they were as electric to him as they felt to Harry, who felt like he was being pummeled by his suppressed emotions. But Eggsy didn’t say anything, nor did he come any nearer. He just stared at Harry like he was every answer to every question he’d never said out loud. And finally, finally, _finally_ something about Eggsy softened and he gave Harry a small smile from where he stood, which Harry returned with a nod, too worked up to offer a smile. Fortunately Eggsy seemed to hear what Harry was feeling anyways.

 

Harry could have stayed locking eyes with Eggsy forever. When Eggsy turned away Harry could have sworn he felt the very air between them tear and he kept his eyes on Eggsy until he was out of sight, disappearing into the cavernous depth of the stadium.

 

Harry needed to take several breaths to collect himself. He didn’t even have the mental energy to tell himself to get a grip.      He’d have to eventually though. Because there was a game in an hour, and hell if it didn’t feel like he’d already sprinted the length of several football pitches, not even bothering to breathe if it would slow him down.

 

                                                          ***

 

Eggsy closed the door to the locker room behind him, heart thudding. Before games he always liked a brief moment to himself, which Roxy understood. Nothing excessive, he wasn’t one for big pre-game rituals. Then you just start focusing on all your superstitions as opposed to the game, and Eggsy never wanted to be that locked inside of his own head. But he still liked just a few moments where he could center himself, breathe, and just take a minute to be fully present in his own body. It sounded like the kind of new-age hippie bullshit from the CDs Eggsy’s mom liked to listen to in the car, but it worked. Eggsy never took his body for granted and he needed the time before a game to just be by himself.

 

But then he’d opened his eyes, and who was there but Harry Hart. The man had appeared like an apparition they way he always seemed to when Eggsy was on the cusp of some turning point. Eggsy had expected that seeing someone else there would have been jarring, would have taken him out of himself. And yet…he’d somehow never felt more alive, more fully present than he had with Harry’s eyes clasped onto him. Like Harry saw everything inside of him that Eggsy had ever wanted to be. Eggsy had been trying to put their kiss from the other day out of his mind, what with other things to focus on. It had _easily_ been the most surreal moments of Eggsy’s life, and he was fully prepared to chalk it up to a bunch of strands in the universe suddenly getting crossed and culminating in an interaction that made _zero_ sense, and wouldn’t be repeated. Harry Hart, Eggsy’s childhood football hero suddenly appearing as a referee in the tournament of Eggsy’s life? Harry Hart suddenly easing his way into an open spot by Eggsy’s side that he reserved for trusted friends? And of course Harry Hart suddenly kissing him in a locker room? The universe didn’t tend to be that wild twice.

 

And yet there Eggsy had been, in the middle of thanking the universe for his life, and who was the first person to see when he opened his eyes? Harry Hart. Eggsy wasn’t a religious bloke, but he liked movies, he liked books, he understood how a narrative worked, and he bloody well knew when he was getting a sign.

 

It was one he looked forward to getting into. But for the moment? He had a game.

 

“Alright everyone, bring it in,” he called out to his boys and girl, immediately slipping into the skin he wore best, that of football leader. Roxy whistled at their pacing heads, and the team, fresh in royal blue, skin humming with the need to get out and go, eagerly came over.

 

Eggsy looked at their faces and immediately felt a surge of fondness for everyone around him, even Charlie. They were faces he’d resented heavily when he’d first joined them. Faces that had never pinched in worry at the cost of groceries, faces that had never been on the receiving end of a fist, faces that had never looked down in shame from someone making them feel ‘less than’.

 

But they were faces that bit their lips in anticipation in games tied 0-0. Faces that clenched in determination when on a breakaway with a football. Faces that contorted gloriously in adrenaline during their team chant. Faces that broke out in tired grins when they all made it through a grueling practice, finally nailing a strategy. And faces that lit up with joy when anyone on their team had a victory.

 

Those things more than anything else made them Eggsy’s people where it counted most. And he’d been planning on giving them a big speech, telling them how proud he was of them making it to the semi-finals, what to watch out for on the pitch, what the conditions were like, and how much they needed to work together.

 

But looking at their faces, set with determination, tight with anticipation, bright with hope, he knew they knew it all already. So he simply put his hand out into the middle, everyone reaching out to follow suit, placing their hands on top of each other, twenty-five different thumping pulses joined, leading to twenty-five different hearts, all with one thing in mind:

 

“Let’s go get ‘em,” Eggsy grinned.

 

***

 

“Left, Eggsy!” Charlie bellowed as Eggsy tried to track out a path between the circling Middleborough players. He saw Charlie up ahead, no other players around him, but only because they were all converging on Eggsy like a wall of sky blue. He tried to dodge them but they easily knocked the ball from between his feet, punting it amongst themselves back down the field. Shite.

 

Middleborough were good, _very_ good. It was just past halftime and they were 1-0, beating the Kingsmen. It had been a relentless first half of them putting the Kingsmen through the paces, constantly applying pressure to the Kingsmen defence, and never giving an inch themselves. Their forwards and midfielders were a force of double aggression, which meant that the Kingsmen had spent most of the first half playing defensively. They’d spent so much time in the Kingsmen’s zone that it was only a matter of time before the ball had gone flying past Nate’s ear in a mean corner-kick play, which Middleborough had earned fair and square. And now they had to deal with the tension from being one point behind, and the Kingsmen were playing hard to gain some ground in the last half they had left, taking more chances, being more aggressive in order to get around Middleborough’s sky blue jerseys that seemed to block them at every kick.

 

“C’mon, Digby!” Eggsy hollered at their midfielder who was closing in along with Rufus on the ball. Digby maneuvered it between his own feet and gave it a clever smack to the side to Rufus on his left, who immediately sent it sailing back up the field in a mighty kick that curved towards the goal. Eggsy held his breath and his gaze fell on the darker blue up the pitch.

 

“Rox, offside, you’re offside!” he yelled towards her. The linesman noticed Roxy standing too far up the pitch at the same time, lifting his checkered flag into the air. The whistle shrilled and the Middleborough goalie ran up and caught the ball easily. He ran forward tossing it once it the air and giving it a goal kick back into the Kingsmen’s zone. The teams ran back to that area, forwards hanging further back for the next time the ball popped out to them.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was past the defenders!” Roxy called out anxiously, jogging a little ways away from Eggsy and Charlie.

 

“Rufus’ kick wouldn’t have gone in anyways,” Eggsy called back honestly, but a little miffed at his normally ever-observant co-captain not taking better stock of her surroundings. The last thing they could afford right now was a penalty. But he tapped it down because he didn’t need Roxy getting anxious and not keeping her head in the game. “But stop fucking about, yeah? We need you with us.”

 

Roxy nodded and charged forward, and Charlie and Eggsy exchanged a glance. Neither of them would have traded Roxy Morton for any other player in England, but there was no denying her performance anxiety when things got down to the wire.

 

“Hang directly behind me on the next run, alright?” Charlie huffed as he jogged next to Eggsy, and Eggsy saw what his center forward was getting at. Middleborough had been getting around them by looping, just like Merlin had warned. But that left them vulnerable down the middle. Eggsy nodded, keeping an eye on where the Kingsmen defense were walling off the ball. Hugo, one of their defense players leapt up, his height giving him an advantage, and he gave the ball a header back to their midfielders.

 

“Alright, start running,” he said quietly to Charlie, who wheeled around, dropping out of Eggsy’s periphery, heading back to Middleborough’s end of the pitch.

 

“Come on, come on,” Eggsy muttered at Rufus and Digby, knowing they weren’t going to replicate their last play, for fear of Middleborough seeing it coming. Eggsy took a guess on what they were going to do next, going in a tiny bit closer to the crush of players. He was right, when Rufus came out dribbling the ball this time, instead of giving it a long kick. Eggsy started running backwards and locked eyes with Rufus who looked up at him. He gave the ball a flat kick along the turf up to Eggsy, who caught it and seamlessly worked it into his backwards movements.

 

“Thanks, bruv,” he called, jumping about to face forward and kept running with the ball, eyes on Charlie’s back a little ways ahead of him. He saw Middleborough start circling.

 

“Faster!” he yelled ahead, dribbling forwards for all he was worth and hoping Charlie could hear him. Charlie shot straight through the middle of the players in lighter blue, and as soon as he did, Eggsy gave the ball an almighty kick that followed right behind Charlie, bypassing all the Middleborough players who weren’t close enough.

 

“COME ON, MATE,” Eggsy yelled, following behind. He couldn’t see everything Charlie was doing, but he knew he was in the clear. Charging forward he saw every line in Charlie’s body coil up, Charlie taking a nimble jump to the side, setting himself up in the space of a second, swinging back his leg, and giving the ball an enormous kick, and Eggsy saw it sailing up, up, up, and –

 

“GOAL!”

 

Eggsy didn’t even hear the announcer’s voice ringing through the stadium, didn’t see the stands that were exploding in a flurry of royal blue flags, he ran straight forward to where Charlie had slid down to his knees, pummeling the ground with his fists, letting out a triumphant howl. He stood up, arms aloft, and turned to see Eggsy, a delighted grin breaking out across his face.

 

“Fucking aces!” Eggsy hollered as they collided, hands smacking each other’s backs triumphantly as the rest of their team converged, joining them in jumping madly because _tie fucking game!_

 

Eggsy heard the whistle blow, and didn’t look around to see where Harry was standing, having been paying only the barest amount of attention to him possible this game, not wanting to lose focus for a second. He looked off to the side and saw Merlin’s hands in a T signifying a timeout. Still all patting each other’s backs, the team gamboled over to their bench area, where Merlin stood applauding forcefully.

 

“Outstanding work,” he shouted. “Charlie, Eggsy, _well_ done. I want you _all_ showing that much focus. Roxy, offside? Really? Come on, you know better, lass.”

 

“Won’t happen again, coach,” Roxy said tensely.

 

“Bloody right it won’t. Alright everyone, here’s the deal. There are only _fifteen_ minutes left. Thanks to Charlie and Eggsy, we’ve got more than a fair chance now, but now is not the time to get sloppy. I don’t want anyone slagging on the defense, but we can afford to play more offensively now. Keep track of each other and let’s focus on getting that ball up, and _keeping_ it up, got it?”

 

“Got it.” They all nodded.

 

“Give ‘em hell.” Merlin waved his hand to Harry across the pitch who blew the whistle again, and the Kingsmen went charging back onto the pitch, amidst the excited screams of their supporters in the stands.

 

They resumed play, and what began was a vicious back and forth between the Kingsmen and Middleborough, where every time they got the ball closer to the other’s goal, the defense would get it right back out again. Eggsy could feel the stadium’s collective inhale every time the ball got back to their end. If Middleborough scored now, there’d be no tie-ing things up again, not in the short space of time they had left. But the Kingsmen defense were more focused than ever, not giving an inch. Nate in his gold goalie’s jersey was a constantly crouched figure, poised to spring at any kick. And thank _god_.

 

Eggsy saw the ball fly over the heads of the Kingsmen at the same time as everyone else in the stadium did, all of them letting out an honest to god _scream_. But Nate took a running leap at it, and intercepting it where it smacked soundly against his chest. He wrapped his arms around it in a vice as he fell back to the ground, crouched around it like a newborn, shielding it from any follow-up kicks.

 

The Kingsmen whooped at the save, the rush of relief practically staggering. Eggsy’s blood was pumping in his ears, otherwise he’d have heard the announcers cheesy jokes about, “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s the Kingsmen’s goalie, _literally_ staying on the on the ball!”

 

Nate got back up, hands still tightly around the ball, looking a little dazed. The Kinsgmen fell back into formation, and so did Middleborough, expecting the big kicks from the nets that came at this point in the game.

 

But Nate surprised them all, except, apparently, the midfielders who were hanging a little closer to the net. He sent a modest kick up to Digby, and Eggsy heard a Middleborough forward swear as they ran past him, needing to get back down to that end of the field. Eggsy stayed where he was, letting them sort it out, but still being at the ready.

 

He glanced between his forwards. Five minutes left, and they needed to play risky but still needed to play _smart_. Middleborough were definitely expecting another surge from Charlie at this point. They’d charge him if the ball got anywhere near him again. His gaze fell across the pitch to where Roxy was, on the left side, and something twigged in his memory. But before he could remember what, Digby had brazenly out-maneuvered the crowd of players in the Kingsmen’s end.

 

“Eggs!” he shouted, sending the ball up to Eggsy. Eggsy caught it on his thighs and started running full tilt up the pitch.

 

Most of Middleborough was behind him, having run back after Nate’s restrained kick. But one of their defense had hung back more warily, and was now making a beeline for Eggsy. Shite.

 

Eggsy looked to his left for Charlie, but Charlie was further back with the rest of the herd close on his heels, and Eggsy didn’t want to risk it ending up in their possession. He looked further left and saw Harry running up, keeping pace, and just over his shoulder, the glint of a dirty blonde ponytail. And all of the sudden the memory that had been nagging at him slotted into place around him.

 

_“I’m merely observing that it’s interesting she seems to pass so many of the shots along to you, after reviewing both your statistics,” Harry said, taking a sip of his pint across from Eggsy. “She takes fewer shots at the net than you do, and yet a higher percentage of hers go in. You have better overall footwork, but she has more power to her kicks.”_

_“Yeah well, when things are close she’s a little gun-shy I guess.”_

_“Entirely understandable. But it seems like you might benefit from sending more along her way.”_

_“Oi, what kind of ref are you? Are you_ _supposed_ _to be giving advice to team-members?”_

_“It’s only advice if you follow it.”_

 

Eggsy glanced between the Middleborough player and Roxy, and looked back down at the ball. He _might_ get around the lad from Middleborough, but there was no guarantee. And Roxy was open _now_.

 

As though hearing his thoughts, Roxy met Eggsy’s gaze and her eyes widened. Eggsy ran through a thousand calculations of outcomes in his head in the space of a millisecond, before turning off his head and letting instinct take over entirely. And before Roxy could open her mouth. Eggsy booted the ball across the field to her, right as the Middleborough player was about to collide with him.

 

“Go get it, Rox!” he yelled desperately.

 

The entire crowd was on their feet as Roxy trapped the ball on her cleats, and began to run madly with it. She had no one coming at her, but the players behind them were all catching up. She took it closer and closer towards the goal, the Middleborough goalie beginning to rush out to meet her.

 

“Go, Roxy, go!” Eggsy shouted, hearing his teammates behind him, desperately hollering similar encouragements.

 

Roxy was still charging towards the goalie when Eggsy saw her legs turn in a different way than just headlong running, almost like they were getting in a tangle. His heart leapt into his throat, and he suddenly flashed back to Roxy’s first ever game where she’d tripped at the goal, utterly humiliating herself.

 

But Roxy, _fucking Roxy_ , taking a page out of Eggsy’s book of fancy footwork was simply slinging the ball back around her, instead of going for her habitual brutish kick. Not at all her usual style, therefore Eggsy knew it must have been borne of pure instinct, and instinct alone. Eggsy felt his heart swell where it was practically in his mouth now, as he watched Roxy fairly dance away from the goalie. And spinning out to the side, with room to spare, she brought her leg in a powerful wind-up that was _all_ Roxy this time, and her leg muscles taut, she gave the ball a resounding _smack_ where it flew into the back of the neck like it had been shot out of a cannon. A cannon whose name was –

 

“ROXY!” Eggsy yelled ecstatically, and the stadium fairly _exploded_ around them.

 

Roxy straightened up and saw the ball firmly in the back of the goal, and her mouth fell open. She stared like she was in utter shock covering her mouth, and as Eggsy ran towards her he could see the intensity slowly start to slide off her face, starting first at her eyes which began to light up, her hand falling away from her mouth which was taking on the shape of a smile. And as it fully hit her, she turned to see Eggsy, who didn’t break speed for a second, and charged straight at her. Roxy ran towards him too, and they collided in the middle so hard they practically fell over, and they only just stayed upright, Roxy’s hair tickling Eggsy’s face as he hugged her for all he was worth.

 

“YES,” Eggsy hollered in her ear, squeezing her so hard he was lifting her off her toes. Roxy gave a laugh that was practically loony as she tightened her grip on Eggsy, heart going a million miles an hour. Eggsy was laughing too, and caught sight of them embracing on the stadium’s big screen as the rest of the stadium went to absolute _shit_ around them, the announcers losing their minds in the booths.

 

“That was fucking brilliant!” Eggsy laughed as he twirled her around. Roxy laughed back but all she could seem to say was ‘holy shit, holy shit,’ over and over, which just made Eggsy laugh more in pure fucking joy. A feeling that was intensified as he felt themselves both become crushed as the rest of their team caught up to them, slamming into them hooting in pure, mad, celebration, everyone reaching out to smack Roxy on the back, making them lose their balance and fall to a heap.

 

They got up as Merlin was running over looking mental with exuberance, and they stood up laughing as they swamped him too. And when Roxy finally stood up from the bottom of the heap, hair in total disarray, eyes bright with victory, Merlin’s smile practically exploded off his face.

 

“THAT WAS FUCKING SPECTACULAR!” he roared and Roxy laughed out loud, flushed and ecstatic, leaping into his outstretched arms as their coach twirled her around while the rest of their team jumped out each other in celebration as it caught up to them that they were _in the fucking finals!_

 

Eggsy broke away from where he was locked in a hug with Nate, who’d fucking sprinted from his goal at the sound of the whistle, and he saw the Middleborough goalie leaning with his head on the post, and the other players in sky blue were breathlessly catching on that the game was over as they trailed off in different directions.

 

“Fall in,” he yelled at his team and they joined him as he went out to shake hands with the Middleborough players who’d scattered to different areas of the pitch.

 

“Let’s hear it for Middleborough!” Eggsy heard an announcer yell out, as the audience stamped and cheered their approval. Eggsy joined in clapping. They’d put up a _bloody_ terrific fight, and while they looked exhausted and dejected right now, Eggsy knew they’d gained a hell of a lot of public admiration for this game alone. This game would be the talk of pubs across the UK for ages.

 

The Kingsmen all shook hands with them, players exchanging words or hugs, many of them knowing each other pretty well from the football scene in general. Some had even played on the same team together back in the day, before making it to the big leagues.

 

Eggsy patted the Middleborough captain on the back once more. Looking around and making sure he’d made the rounds, he caught the eye of his own players, and jerked his head towards Roxy, grinning. And they all rushed her once more, this time lifting their girl to their shoulders, and carrying her about the pitch.

 

Eggsy was smiling so hard it fucking hurt, adrenaline and joy all still careening through his veins, and it increased tenfold when he turned his head and saw Harry, off to the side. Harry had been conferring with a linesman, stoic as ever, but when he looked up and saw Eggsy, he gave the tiniest of winks, and though his mouth was only _barely_ lifted up to the side, it looked like it was twitching from the force of restraining a full smile. Eggsy winked back and raced back to the rest of his team, ambushing Merlin in a piggyback, and they all danced madly around the pitch, soaking in the cheers of the crowd, laughing at the hundreds of cameras that swirled around them, and eyes lit up from more than just flashbulbs.

 

***

 

Eggsy was changed into a pair of track pants and a plain black T-shirt, freshly clean, hair towelled dry. The locker room after the game had been one of the most jubilant of Eggsy’s life, and the longest time it had taken for anyone to get changed _ever_. They’d just ran about in a frenzy, laughing and pummelling each other in celebration, madly rehashing every single play of the game with exuberant yells of ‘Did you see when-’, and everyone either catching Roxy in a headlock or kissing her loudly on the cheek. They’d eventually gotten round to deciding where to go out to celebrate, Merlin circling, passing out traditional gold-embossed coins that said ‘Finalist’, and holding up his fingers reminding them, “Two drinks _maximum_ , just because you’re going to the finals doesn’t mean you’re getting drunk tonight, we’ve still got a meeting tomorrow.” That was when Eggsy had slipped out, changed and showered, and made his way through the hallways of the stadium until he found the office he was looking for.

 

“Files for Mr. Hart from Merlin, mate,” he said, holding up a folder to the security guard standing outside the door that said H. Hart. The folder was actually an empty one he’d slipped from Roxy’s duffel bag, but hell if anyone cared enough to check. He also held up his official ‘Finalist’ coin for good measure, although it wasn’t like anyone was going to tell Eggsy ‘No’ right now, not after winning this game.

 

The security guard opened the door, giving Eggsy a hearty slap on the back and a ‘congratulations’, and Eggsy stepped inside. And all the breath left him when he saw Harry, his back to him, changed back into one of those sleek suits he favoured, jacket off, suspenders pressing against the white button down.

 

Harry turned around, and when he saw who it was, the smile he’d been holding back from before suddenly made its way back to his face, full-force.

 

“That was some pass,” Harry said, eyes crinkling.

 

“That was some tip.” Eggsy grinned.

 

And before he knew it, they’d crossed the space of the office in just a few steps, had slid their arms around each other, mouths catching together, kissing fiercely.

 

“Oh god,” Eggsy breathed desperately. But he was grinning against Harry’s mouth, making their teeth clack together. Harry just moaned in response, fingers sliding through Eggsy’s hair which still damp and slightly ruffled, catching Eggsy’s mouth in kiss after kiss after kiss, mouth warm against Eggsy’s, lips starting to trail from Eggsy’s mouth, landing on Eggsy’s cheek, his chin, his neck…

 

Eggsy moaned and tilted his head so he could get Harry’s lips, Harry’s bloody fantastic lips back on his own again, savouring they way they met the movements of his mouth exactly, while Eggsy kissed him back relentlessly like Harry was oxygen.

 

He didn’t realize Harry was walking them backwards until his back hit the wall of the tiny office. Harry stepped forward fairly pinning Eggsy to the wall, which was just as well, since Eggsy was practically _melting_. He slid his arms around Harry, fingers tightening in the stiff white cloth of Harry’s button-down shirt, trying to get the shape of the warm skin underneath. Harry just pushed against Eggsy harder, lips parting Eggsy’s ruthlessly, his tongue sweeping into Eggsy’s mouth which Eggsy met desperately with his own as they tasted each other, Eggsy’s hands scrabbling desperately at Harry’s back.

 

When they’d kissed before, Eggsy had been out of his mind with confusion and dejection, latching onto Harry in emotional desperation. But now he was enthusiastically pulling Harry closer in joy, familiarity, and sheer unadulterated _want_.

 

A want that was electrocuted when he felt Harry’s hips press against his, and he felt all the blood in his body rush into his lap as he arched against the man.

 

“Oh fuck, Harry,” Eggsy moaned into Harry’s mouth, the hard weight in his tracksuit pants rubbing up against the bulge in Harry’s trousers, and _fuck_ , if there’d been any blood remaining in Eggsy’s head it had just drained completely at that, at the fucking feel of Harry hard and straining against him. He tilted his hips up again and felt Harry shake all over, and his lips spasm on his mouth.

 

“Eggsy,” he gasped, hands locked on either side of Eggsy’s head as he kissed him bruisingly, fingers leaving a burning trail as they began to drag downwards over Eggsy’s face, against the line of his throat, dropping down to skate over his ribs which elicited a full-body shudder from Eggsy, and finally dropped heavily onto Eggsy’s hips, warm and firm. Eggsy arched his back, and when he did he felt Harry’s hold on his hips tighten, as the man pulled Eggsy closer towards him.

 

“Fucking – _hell_ ,” Eggsy croaked out, squeezing his eyes shut, and began to rut shamelessly against Harry, who met each of Eggsy’s thrusts, mouth finding Eggsy’s again. And as they kissed desperately, Harry built a rhythm as their hips ground together, and Eggsy almost fainted at the realization that Harry was practically fucking him right there into the wall.

 

A knock on the door next to them almost gave Eggsy a heart attack, and in a reflex that was arousingly fast, Harry’s hand flew out, deftly snapping the lock shut above the doorknob.

 

“What is it?” he called out, gritting his teeth, forehead pressed damply against Eggsy’s.

 

“The referees are asking for you Mr. Hart,” came the voice of the security guard outside, the crackle of a walkie-talkie faintly audible. “Meeting in five minutes.”

 

Harry’s head dropped to Eggsy’s neck where he mumbled something incoherent, fingers squeezing into Eggsy’s hips, before straightening up.

 

“Noted,” he called back, and turned down to look at Eggsy, whose lips were flushed and whose eyes were glazed as he looked up at Harry, who looked perfectly put together but for the fact that he was breathing like they were still in the middle of the game.

 

Eggsy took a deep breath, some of his senses coming back, and he slid his hands back up Harry’s body, fingers brushing across the man’s hair, which was beginning to fall into his forehead.

 

“Hair,” he said inarticulately in explanation. He swallowed. “Your hair was… _fuck,_ Harry,” he said, half-laughing, half-keening at his own state. Harry smiled, eyes soft, as he bent down to catch Eggsy’s lips in another kiss, which Eggsy met eagerly. But he pulled away all too soon, Eggsy’s lips feeling empty at the loss.

 

“You should go celebrate with your team,” Harry said, stepping back, and smoothing Eggsy’s clothes back into place.

 

“You should go do referee things with your refs,” Eggsy smiled at the way Harry’s hands were adjusting him gently, nonetheless causing him to shiver.

 

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned.

 

“What, not a fan of official regulations work?” Eggsy snorted.

 

“Do I look like a fan of official regulations work?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow behind his glasses, nodding at their still somewhat tangled position against the wall.

 

“I dunno, mate, think I’m gonna need more research on that,” Eggsy said winking exaggeratedly. Harry rolled his eyes, but his face softened into something serious and decisive. Eggsy gazed up at it feeling a sense of calm and certainty wash over him, and he tilted his head up once more, where Harry kissed him gently. The stood there for a few moments longer, kissing softly and surely, and when Eggsy pulled back for real, he felt something settle in him.

 

They both took a minute to straighten out their clothes, sweeping their hair back into place. Harry strode over to his office chair, picking up his jacket and slipping into it in a liquid motion.

 

“How do I look?” he asked, smoothing down the front of his jacket, fingers nimbly fastening it shut. “Presentable?” Eggsy let out a faintly strangled noise at the trim column of his body that was neatly put together, and the way its sleek lines contrasted with the gentle lines of Harry’s face, and twinkle his eyes as he took in Eggsy’s hungry face.

 

“You really don’t want me to answer that, bruv,” Eggsy croaked out, and shook his head dazedly. He placed a hand on the doorknob and looked back. “Seeya next time then, yeah?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager and failing miserably.

 

“Indeed,” nodded Harry, smiling at Eggsy’s enthusiasm. “Looking forward to it,” he added, and Eggsy beamed. And just as he was about to step outside, Harry called out: “Oh, and Eggsy?”

 

Eggsy turned back and Harry bent over, picking something up and flicking it towards Eggsy. Eggsy caught it reflexively and turned it over. It was his coin that he’d dropped, the one that said ‘Finalist’.

 

Harry grinned.

 

“Congratulations.”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

“Two more laps!” shouted Merlin from the sidelines, as the Kingsmen hustled past him once again. There was a collective groan.

 

“Come on, Merlin!” called one player.

 

“Make that three for Hugo.” The unfortunate defender squawked in protest as the rest of the herd laughed, squaring up their shoulders and putting on a fresh burst of speed as they rounded the field again, the sun getting lower in the sky.

 

Eggsy breathed more air into his lungs, not sprinting but still running steadily, thighs warm and sweaty from exertion and the late-day sun warming his legs. This practice wasn’t about pushing themselves, as per Merlin’s instructions. It was just a tune-up to keep them fresh by the time they entered the stadium again for the final this weekend. He couldn’t help but feel a glow when running with his team, their shoulders jostling each other occasionally, the summer breeze tickling their skin, cooling them as they ran.

 

They came around the bend for the final time, running towards their coach who stood with a stopwatch, getting ready to clock their average pace.

 

They shot by him and he pressed his thumb down with an electronic beep. “Spot on. Walk it off. I said _walk_ it off,” he added to the few who had flopped breathlessly onto the turf the second they were done, chests rising and falling.

 

Eggsy paced, taking long strides, stretching his calves as he walked, muscles burning but in a pleasant way. He took deeper breaths now, easing his heartrate back down.

 

“Okay, at ease,” Merlin said after the team had meandered for a few minutes. The team sunk gratefully to the ground, most stretching out, the synthetic turf tickling their skin as they lay there sweaty and flushed but accomplished, reaching for their scattered water bottles, taking long pulls, coasting on the high of exertion.

 

Merlin pulled out some papers, stretching out his long legs, posture easing somewhat as he made the swap from physical to administrative coaching, and went over official notices from headquarters about the final.

 

“And there’s the Finalist’s Gala tomorrow night of course, black tie, and cocktails start at six-thirty…” Merlin went on, while the rest of the team lay on their backs, some using their scattered hoodies as pillows, taking sips from their large water bottles, listening in a half-attentive daze, letting their coach’s thick Scottish brogue wash comfortingly around them as they basked under the warm sky.

 

“…and that’s about it.” Merlin finally looked up from his papers, and raised an eyebrow at his team who was still sprawled in a dreamy fashion on the grass, some of them giving slight nods of retention. He smiled slightly at their state. “That’s a wrap, guys,” he said pointedly.

 

They could go home now but still no one moved, just resting on their backs, hands brushing absently over the turf, chests still lifting and dropping from exertion, but in a more relaxed, controlled fashion now. Merlin just chuckled and let them be, pulling out some more files and began taking copious notes in the margins. The team enjoyed a comfortable silence, lying and listening to the faint sounds of traffic from the nearest freeway that just barely made it inside the stadium, the drone of summer cicadas, and the occasional scritch of Merlin’s pencil.

 

“Anyone ever play house league football?” Eggsy asked suddenly from where he was stretched on the turf. Some of his teammembers shook their heads absently, others leaning up a little giving him blank looks. He hadn’t really been expecting much of a response to the impulsive question, knowing most of his teammates had had their football startups playing for whatever their boarding school’s team was. But one of the newer members, a midfielder named Andrew surprised him.

 

“Yeah, mate, I only went to Eton when I was thirteen. Went to primary school in a tiny neighbourhood where my mum volunteered. Did house league the whole time, only option.”

 

“Remember the orange slices?” Eggsy asked grinning at him, and Andrew laughed, immediately knowing what Eggsy was talking about. At practices or games, without fail, someone’s parent would turn up with a large, flat Tupperware full of sliced oranges. None of the kids really went nuts for them, but they tolerated them, any fruit feeling refreshing during a practice. Sometimes a parent branched out and brought popsicles which the kids would lunge for on their rare appearances. But the plastic container of orange slices was as much a part of casual, intercity football kids’ leagues as the football itself.

 

“Could use some of those again,” Eggsy said, flopping back down as Andrew hummed in agreement. He’d loathed the fresh fruit as a kid, but right now, lying under the sun, Eggsy would have given anything for the gush of cold, sticky citrus between his teeth, flooding his mouth.

 

Eggsy was experiencing the strongest flashback, suddenly feeling completely like a kid again, lounging about with his teammates. The grass might have been astroturf, the field might have been in a world cup stadium instead of in the neighbourhood park, and the players might have been England’s top football league, instead of a motley pack of kids with mismatched shinpads and faded pinnies of different colours. But the feeling was the same. He was half expecting someone’s father to show up and take them all out to ice cream afterwards, like the dads of his mates would do back in the day, when they’d come into a bit of extra pocket change. Eggsy remembered helping load the car back up and jumping into the front seat next to his dad, who’d chide him for putting his cleats up on the dash while they listened to the evening radio. The parents would follow each other in convoy to the nearest ice cream parlour and the kids would stand in the chill, their field-grubby hands pressed up against the glass hollering out flavours, while the parents stood back chatting aimlessly about grownup things that were of far less consequence than ice cream flavours, football matches, and the long summer stretching ahead.

 

Eggsy realized with a soft start it was the first time he’d thought of his Dad in a while, let alone without the bitter pull of something that had been taken from him too soon. He just felt warmed by the memories, regretful there wouldn’t be more with his Dad in them, but thankful he had any in the first place.

 

“Alright, you lot,” Merlin’s voice came gently, easing through their reverie. “That’s enough for one day. See you tomorrow.”

 

The team slowly got to their feet, stretching contentedly and began absently gathering up their things, slipping sweaters back over their casual practice clothes, draining the rest of their water bottles. They filed off in twos and threes, saying goodbye to Merlin, who stood up eventually. He looked at Eggsy who was still hanging back, foot on top of a football, sheepishly rolling it back and forth.

 

“I thought I’d…just for a bit.”

 

Merlin shook his head slightly but he was smiling. “Don’t go wearing yourself out.” He hoisted a duffel bag to his shoulders. “Night, lad.”

 

“Night, coach.”

 

Eggsy dribbled over to the nearest goal, leaving the ball set up for a penalty shot, made a wide circle, coming back and shooting the ball into the net. He strolled into the net to retrieve it, no hurry, and dribbled back to his starting position, doing the same thing. He hadn’t practiced penalty shots in a while, never having liked them much, but knew he could use the work.

 

After about twenty minutes he went back to the sidelines for a drink of water and to check his phone. There weren’t any texts since he was blessedly free this evening. He didn’t feel like going home yet though, preferring to bask in his post-practice feeling of contentment. Somewhat impulsively he went onto Youtube. Fingers hovering over the keys he huffed out a laugh and began typing a very familiar search to him: _Harry Hart 1985 playoffs goal._

He clicked it with a smile. A once frequent ritual as an aspiring footballer had taken on a different meaning now. He’d always thought of the posh footballer as his sports hero, but it used to be grudgingly. But now knowing him as a person he had a whole new appreciation for the man’s skills. He wasn’t uptight: he just had a control which Eggsy admired even more now. And in terms of what Harry the person meant to Eggsy, Harry just felt like Eggsy’s…Eggsy didn’t know. They hadn’t spoken since kissing each other senseless after the semi-finals. Eggsy didn’t even have Harry’s number. There’d be time to work out what was going on after the finals but for now, both knew too much interaction before the match would have their public selves skating on thin ice.

 

Eggsy watched the figure on his screen dribbling elegantly down the pitch, face set in what Eggsy knew was total, rapt focus. Eggsy wondered how he’d ever found the man ‘uptight’ looking. And then phone-Harry was pulling that _spectacular_ move with the ball that Eggsy had spent more than a few weekends trying to emulate as a kid: kick up behind with the left, twist, catch it on the right, keep going.

 

“Fuck’s sake, Hart,” Eggsy muttered, shaking his head but grinning. He’d never gotten the hang of that one.

 

He took another sip of water and ambled over to the empty team benches, stadium totally deserted now. He sat back on the grass, back against the bench, still watching his screen. He scrolled aimlessly down the related videos, drinking water, about to click out when one caught his eye:

 

_Harry Hart football injury – full video! (Worst sports injuries series #7)_

Eggsy hesitated. He’d seen it of course. Live on TV as a kid, and several times since on youtube as a young adult with a morbid fear of sports injuries. But he hadn’t _known_ the guy back then…he didn’t know if this was overstepping…breaching some kind of confidence.

 

He eventually clicked it, watching the video, one thumb hovering over the exit button. There was Harry, dodging the opposing players from Liverpool, getting the ball around them. Then one came lunging out of nowhere, leg out further than it should have been, tripping Harry up, the foul sending him practically flying. Harry went tumbling across the grass, leg bending in with a ghastly twist, Harry reaching for it even as he rolled. He came to a stop, his face contorted in agony, evident even through the pixelated quality of the video from the eighties. His teammates came running over to where Harry lay, his knee at an ungodly angle, and skin protruding in a way that could only be from the bone…

 

Eggsy quickly clicked out with a grimace, leaning back against the bench, sighing heavily.

 

“Yes it was as bad as it looked,” a voice said drily behind him. Eggsy whirled around coming face to face with Harry.

 

“ _Harry_. Shit, I…what’re you doing here?” Eggsy asked, mouth falling open, blood rushing to his cheeks.

 

“Same as you. Working late,” Harry answered, motioning to the briefcase he held, adjusting the umbrella hanging off his arm. “Getting distracted by Youtube.”

 

Eggsy was mortified for himself, but felt terrible for Harry, who must have been thinking god knows what about why Eggsy was watching videos of the injury that cost Harry his professional sports career.

 

“Bollocks, Harry. I’m…I’m sorry, mate,” Eggsy said, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t going looking for it or nothing, it was just _there_ , and…I shouldn’t have clicked,” he said mournfully. “I’m really sorry.”

 

Harry waved way his concern. “Please. A natural curiosity for anyone, especially yourself.”

 

“Shouldn’a clicked it though,” Eggsy mumbled, sinking down to sit on the bench properly. “Seen it before, no reason to see it now.”

 

Harry came over, dropping his briefcase and sitting down next to Eggsy in silence. It struck Eggsy that the first time they’d kissed had been sitting on a bench like this. Harry had been comforting Eggsy. Now Harry sat, back impossibly straight, gaze distant, and Eggsy wanted nothing more than to comfort him now, he just didn’t know how.

 

“You miss it?” Eggsy asked quietly, glancing out to the empty pitch, dappled gold from the slowly sinking sun. Dusk was beginning to creep over the tops of the stadium walls.

 

He wasn’t sure if Harry had even heard him, or was ignoring him, until Harry, eyes on the immense stretch of abandoned field reached up to adjust his spectacles, answering simply: “Very much.”

 

“Why didn’t you stay involved?” asked Eggsy genuinely curious as to why this surprisingly affable man had famously become all but a recluse in the world of football. “I mean lots of people do after they retire. Anyone woulda snapped you up as a coach or consultant or summat. Or - or you could have become a sports reporter…” Eggsy trailed off, the suggestions sounding weak even to his own ears. Harry just shook his head.

 

“I never had the temperament to be a coach. Some people do, it’s in their blood. Merlin was always bound for it. I’d say your friend Miss Morton could have a very successful career of coaching ahead of her, should she choose that after she retires from playing. But I…I couldn’t. If I couldn’t play then I didn’t want any part of it I suppose. Watching from the sidelines…it was never for me.”

 

Eggsy understood that entirely. He’d always preferred doing than watching. But even so…

 

“Then why’d you come back now? Refereeing?”

 

Harry paused. “I owed Merlin a favour,” was all he answered.

 

Eggsy chewed his lip, thinking things over. Finally he stood up, dragging Harry to his feet.

 

“Well as long as you’re doing people favours you might as well keep me warm and pass the ball with me,” Eggsy said brightly, drawing the nearest football towards him with his foot.

 

Harry stiffened. “I assure you I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

 

Eggsy just snorted. “Yeah I feel sorry for you like I feel sorry for Roxy. We’re helping _me_ out here, remember?”

 

“I don’t believe you for a second,” Harry said, but a slight smile had crept onto his face at the idea of Eggsy being selfish. And had his posture eased somewhat? “And in any case I’m hardly your best bet for a ‘sparring partner’. I haven’t touched a ball in about twenty years.”

 

“You’ll be fine,” Eggsy said dismissively. “You’re just being chicken.”

 

“Chicken, am I?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

 

With no answer and with no warning, Eggsy kicked the ball at Harry with all his might.

 

Harry didn’t even blink and caught the ball on his right Oxford with an audible _smack_ , kicked it up once, and whirling around he struck it back to Eggsy faster than lightning. Eggsy simply caught it with his hands, the force making his palms tingle. He broke into a delighted grin.

 

“There he is,” Eggsy said dropping the ball back to the ground. “C’mon, I want to practice my insteps.”

 

Harry looked at him knowingly, but nonetheless shrugged off his jacket, following Eggsy out to the middle of the pitch, where Eggsy kicked the ball with the flat part of his laces, sending it sailing to Harry, who returned it easily in the same style.

 

“Try an outside kick,” Harry suggested, rolling up his sleeves. Eggsy raised his eyebrows but sent it back with a kick from the outside of his cleats.

 

“Lock your ankle,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Like this.” He turned his foot, giving the ball a straight knock.

 

They passed the ball back and forth more times between them, Harry offering pointers as needed, which Eggsy soaked up. Eggsy caught the ball and was about to kick it back, but he suddenly stopped, huffing out a slightly dazed laugh.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing. Just…can’t believe I’m casually knocking a football about with Harry Fucking Hart like it’s nothing,” Eggsy said, eyes sparkling. He laughed again, and Harry found himself caught by the infectious sound, smiling slightly but still obviously confused. Eggsy elaborated.

 

“Alright fine, I’m…I’m a bit of a fan,” he confessed, still grinning, a hint of red on his cheeks. “Don’t laugh.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry answered, despite the mirth bubbling up in him. “What happened to that bristling boy I saw in a press conference who was asked about me? The one going on about players who only got into football because of silver spoons up their arses?” he quoted, teasing Eggsy.

 

“Nah, mate, that was the league’s _other_ chav from the wrong side of the tracks,” Eggsy laughed. “Different Eggsy.”

 

“I’m beginning to suspect it was,” Harry smiled, trapping the ball Eggsy had finally sent back his way, ankle locked perfectly. He was momentarily distracted by the stadium lights coming on with a loud thunking sound. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten, but the sky was completely indigo when he looked up, the floodlights standing out in in a pulsing yellow contrast, shimmering from the bugs that were all out at this hour, drawn to the enormous beams that lit up the stadium like its own tiny planet under the wide dark sky.

 

They resumed passing. Eggsy could see Harry had loosened up, but he still felt like he’d violated the man’s privacy somehow by looking at that video. If you can call a video with over three million views, ‘private’. He felt like he needed to offer something back.

 

“You know,” he started casually. “We’ve actually met once,” he confessed.

 

Harry’s head snapped up, forehead creased. “We what?”

 

“I said we’ve met before,” Eggsy repeated, lips twitching at Harry’s look of bewilderment.

 

“I’m sure we haven’t. This season is the first time I’d even been back to the clubhouse in about ten years. I can’t think of where else we’d have come across each other.”

 

“I was six,” Eggsy said in explanation, laughing a bit self-deprecatingly. “Changed a bit since then.”

 

“Was it at a game?” Harry asked curiously, remembering signing many an autograph for kids after games. They tended to be infinitely more tolerable than their parents.

 

“A tryout actually,” Eggsy said, kicking the ball to Harry. “My Dad was trying out for the Kingsmen and he ended up making it to the final cut. Brought me along to one of the final rounds to watch. I don’t remember it _that_ well, but I remember him taking me around to say hi to the players.” Eggsy smiled. “You was one.”

 

The ball was resting by Harry’s feet but was oblivious to it, staring at Eggsy in complete astonishment.

 

“Lee Unwin.” Harry’s mouth fell open. “Oh god, I’m a complete idiot, Eggsy, of _course_ ,” he said in disbelief at his not having connected the surnames.

 

“You remember my Dad?” Now it was Eggsy’s turn to sound astounded.

 

“I remember your father perfectly,” Harry said. He shook his head still somewhat dazed. “Damn good player. And I remember you too now, for that matter. He couldn’t stop talking about you, how you were going to be a footballer just like him.”

 

Eggsy stared at the man across from him. “Didn’t think anyone from the team would’ve remembered,” he said almost to himself. “It were ages ago, and so many people try out…”

 

“You know he made the team, don’t you, Eggsy?” Harry asked softly. Eggsy looked back at him, and Harry couldn’t tear himself away from the clear, wondering eyes. “Oh of course the higher ups moaned about it, asked what was happening to professional football if we’d let just anyone in off the streets. But there were enough of us who wouldn’t take no for an answer, myself included. Your father was outstandingly talented.”

 

Eggsy was walking towards Harry now and Harry smiled sadly. “When we called the following week however, we found out about the stroke. I’m very sorry, Eggsy.”

 

Eggsy’s lip trembled just barely but he was hanging onto Harry’s words. Eggsy remembered the period after his father’s unexpected death as mostly a daze. Just his grandmother seeming to be in the flat a lot more than usual, and Eggsy not really understanding what was going on. He remembered how excited his Dad had been about the tryouts though, and ever since Eggsy was sure no one had even cared. And now to hear that Harry not only remembered him, but believed in him enough to vouch for him…

 

“He’d be so proud of you, Eggsy,” Harry said. “To see you now.”

 

Eggsy swallowed, looking quickly to the side, the field and Harry becoming a bit of a blur.

 

“I still can’t believe that was you,” Harry said in wonderment. He walked over to Eggsy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Eggsy shrugged, blinking away any remaining moisture in his eyes. “Dunno.”

 

“Yes you do,” Harry said.

 

“I just didn’t want to freak you out,” Eggsy said reluctantly. “By reminding you of how much younger I was, how much younger I _am_. Christ mate, you’re already my ref, I figured you didn’t need any more reasons to freak out about me when I don’t even know where this is going.”

 

“I don’t know where this is going either,” Harry admitted. “And I know it can’t be out in the open before the finals. But can I tell you where I _want_ this to go?” Eggsy nodded, not looking up. Harry reached out and gently drew his chin up until Eggsy was looking at him, so he could see that Harry was as serious as he’d ever been. “The second this final is over, whether you win or lose, I want you to be mine and mine alone, for as long as you’ll have me. And bugger anyone who knows it,” Harry added thoughtfully.

 

Eggsy swallowed once, hard, and then a smile crept over his face, eyes brighter than the stadium floodlights.

 

“You mean it?”

 

“Eggsy there’s…” Harry let go of Eggsy’s chin and waved a hand about. “I know _everything_ about this seems unlikely. But I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt you’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met and I…” Harry didn’t even know what to say. “I’m beginning to come to the conclusion that there’s absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

 

Eggsy was very still for a moment. The he reached out taking one of Harry’s hands in his, brushing his thumb over the fingers. “You’d do anything?” he asked.

 

“Anything,” Harry answered swiftly.

 

Eggsy nodded. “Since you mention it…”

 

Harry leaned forward.

 

Eggsy looked up, grinning. “Can you show me that move in your finals’ goal from ’85? ‘Cause I keep trying but I just can’t _quite_ get the right foot down properly.”

 

Harry gaped at him and Eggsy burst out in laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. A slow smile began spreading over Harry’s face and the man laughed out loud. He looked for all the world like he did in the video of his famous goal from twenty years ago, face ruddy from the exercise, cheekbones tinged pink, eyes bright, every line in his face curved up from laughter, and looking up at him, Eggsy felt the pang of certainty of ‘ _oh god I’m really in love with you.’_ And stepping forward he reached up, yanking the man down by his collar and kissed him soundly, joyfully, savouring the ‘oomph’ of surprise against his lips.

 

Eggsy didn’t let up and just kissed the man within an inch of his life, until Harry melted against him, kissing him back properly, hands reaching around Eggsy’s back to draw him closer, shuddering like he was about to fall apart, Eggsy gripping him tighter like he was trying to keep him together.

 

Harry broke off, glasses askew. “Not here,” he gasped.

 

“Oh yeah,” Eggsy said, as though, for the first time, noticing they were standing smack dab in the middle of a stadium lit up by spotlights.

 

Harry tugged at Eggsy’s hand. “Come on then.”

 

***

 

They stumbled into Harry’s office, fingers grappling at each other’s clothes, Harry kicking the door shut behind him so he could keep kissing Eggsy, who’d been practically whimpering ever since Harry had practically _dragged_ him to his office, all but scooping him up and carrying him off the field.

 

Eggsy lunged forward, pinning Harry against the wall, dropping his head and dragging his mouth down the line of Harry’s throat.

 

“God, Harry,” he moaned into the man’s skin. “I want you, I want you _so_ much, you have no idea.”

 

“I have some idea,” Harry said faintly, feeling Eggsy’s tongue drag over the vein in his neck, teeth flirting over the pulse like he was about to bite down, as though Harry didn’t feel vulnerable enough already.

 

Eggsy’s hands went to Harry’s chest, palms running over the cloth as he took a deep breath where his face was still tucked into the crook of Harry’s neck, sliding his around Harry’s waist, locking them together behind his back. And just like that, with no warning, Eggsy seemed to slow down, every muscle in his body going liquid as he just leaned there against Harry, eyes shut and breathing him in, holding him like all he wanted was to just melt straight into Harry’s pores like butter. Harry felt Eggsy’s breath hitch as it fluttered the hairs on the nape of Harry’s neck.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…”

 

“Oh my sweet boy,” Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around him, kissing the side of Eggsy’s face. “I have you,” he said there lips tickled by the hint of stubble Eggsy hadn’t bothered shaving that morning. “I have you.”

 

The gentle words seemed to knock something loose inside of Eggsy, off of a shelf he didn’t even know was there, one he’d spent years climbing, in a lifetime of ‘good enough’ always seeming to be an uphill battle.

 

“Then have me,” Eggsy breathed against Harry’s cheek. He turned his head to look at Harry properly, their noses bumping together, his eyes clear and luminous in the dark of Harry’s office at night. “Have me, Harry.”

 

“Anything,” Harry promised for the third time that night. And swooping forward he caught Eggsy in a kiss, their lips pressed hot together.

 

Harry walked Eggsy backwards towards his couch, Eggsy’s head tilted up almost reverently in order for him to take every kiss Harry gave him as deeply as he could. When the back of his legs hit the back the couch in Harry’s office he sunk down, putting him face to face with Harry’s belt buckle.

 

“Ah yes,” he drawled, a hint of mischief coming back into his tone. “Exactly where I was hoping I’d end up.” He grinned up at Harry, hands going to the man’s belt. His fingers were eager in opening the belt, but gentle when sliding it out of the loops of Harry’s trousers.

 

“Stand up,” Harry said and Eggsy’s sparked in anticipation.

 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked smugly, getting to his feet and wondering if Harry was one for giving orders, as the man leaned into him, invading his space.

 

“If you think you could contain yourself,” Harry began drily, removing the cushions from the couch. “I simply thought this might serve us better.” His hands went to a lever on the side of the couch, which was revealed to be a sofa bed when a mattress sprung out.

 

Eggsy whistled teasingly. “James Bond over here. What else you got up your sleeve?”

 

“Nothing. Just my pull-out technique I’m afraid,” Harry said, giving the now-bed a nod, and Eggsy gaped.

 

“Are you kidding me? You’re…you’re _kidding_ ,” he said gleefully. And when Harry’s lip twitched, Eggsy laughed out loud in delight. “That was _awful_!” And with that he pushed Harry onto the bed. He went down easily, and Eggsy clambered on top, kissing him enthusiastically, hand running down to Harry’s flies.

 

“When I said James Bond I didn’t mean give me the worst innuendo the world has ever heard,” he said, laughing between kisses.

 

“The world’s heard worse,” Harry said mildly, or as mildly as he could manage with Eggsy’s hand reaching into his trousers, palm just ghosting over the outline of Harry’s cock.

 

“Mmm, doubtful,” Eggsy said, but he was grinning as he leaned up, hands going under his t-shirt, and pulling it up and over his head, revealing broad, golden muscles, his freckles just barely visible in the shadows of the office. Harry _ached_ to touch but he swallowed and went to the buttons of his own shirt.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Eggsy said, gently swatting his hands away. “Swear to god I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time you kissed me,” he said beginning to undo Harry’s tie, sliding it out of the collar, hungrily tracking its path over Harry’s chest. He began to unclasp the buttons of Harry’s shirt, slowly, almost reverently, like the mere act of undressing Harry was as pleasurable to him as what would follow, and _fuck_ if that didn’t turn Harry on. He ran his hands up Eggsy’s arms, brushing against the fine, blonde hairs, fingers dipping into the cuts of muscle. He remembered the first time he’d seen Eggsy without a shirt, the lad peeling it off after a game and whipping it around his head. Harry had looked at the spectacle in disdain. Now he only wanted to kiss every freckle, breathe promises into every patch of golden skin.

 

Once Eggsy had gotten Harry’s undershirt off he’d fairly moaned at the expanse of pale skin open to him, the faint brush of dark hair on Harry’s chest. The sound was enough to shatter what little restraint Harry had left, and he tugged Eggsy down on top of him, who went willingly. He ran his hands over Harry’s chest, his stomach, his sides, nuzzling at the patch of hair before leaning up and kissing Harry messily. Their skin was _so_ warm where they were slotted together, chest to chest, Harry’s arms heavy around Eggsy’s back as he pulled him closer.

 

They kissed and kissed like they couldn’t get enough of it, Eggsy reaching up at one point to take off Harry’s glasses, impulsively kissing the bridge of his nose as he did. And then he was sliding down Harry’s body, fingers going to the waistband of Harry’s trousers which were – unbelievably – still on.

 

“Lift up,” Eggsy said breathlessly, sliding them off along with Harry’s briefs, all in one go. Eggsy’s were quick to follow. Harry only got a glimpse of Eggsy’s dark, flushed cock standing up against his stomach before it was obscured by Eggsy bending over where he knelt between Harry’s legs on the mattress.

 

“Oh god yes,” Eggsy rasped, hand going to Harry’s cock, which had Harry’s hips leaping off the mattress at the feel of Eggsy’s hand around him, rough in the most _gorgeous_ way possible. Eggsy bent lower still, his breath ghosting over Harry’s erection which twitched at the sensation.

 

Harry dug his hands into the mattress, fingers clenching with every puff of breath from Eggsy’s panting mouth. And _finally_ Eggsy’s mouth slid damply over his erection. Harry threw his head back, cursing at the swirl of Eggsy’s tongue around him.

 

“Oh god oh god oh god,” he gasped as Eggsy pulled up, all hot, wet suction before sliding back down again, lips rubbing the ridges of his cock.

 

Eggsy would have smirked were his mouth not better occupied, and he continued to bob up and down, closing his eyes, savouring the taste, the scent, _everything_ about Harry’s skin presented to him in so intimately a manner. Harry’s erection was heavy over Eggsy’s tongue and it was making Eggsy’s head spin at how _good_ it felt. And after a few blissful minutes, when Harry breathed out Eggsy’s name like Eggsy was the only thing Harry’s mind had narrowed down to, Eggsy’s hand flew to his own cock.

 

He moaned as he tugged at himself, the muffled sound causing Harry’s hips to jump up, cock pressing harder into Eggsy’s mouth. The feeling had Eggsy seeing stars, and a million fantasies of spending long nights having Harry just fuck his face popped into his head, but right now he had other things in mind. Sliding off of Harry’s cock with a slick sound he crawled back up the length of the man’s body, hooking his arms under Harry’s back and flipping them.

 

Eggsy could feel Harry’s cock stiff against his leg, hot and damp from Eggsy’s own mouth as it rubbed against his thigh.

 

“Oh Eggsy,” Harry said between gritted teeth, rutting down intentionally, Eggsy’s eyes almost going black from arousal.

 

“C’mon, Harry,” he said, lifting his hips until Harry’s cock skitted down until it was lined up with the crevasse of his arse. “We gonna do this all day?” he challenged, but with zero heat. He could _easily_ spend all day grinding his hips together with Harry’s but as it was he had a different plan. Harry seemed to clue into it, eyes full of lust but looking regretful under the dark sweep of his lashes.

 

“I want nothing more,” he said. “But I don’t have any –“

 

“First aid kit,” Eggsy said grinning. “Part of the Athlete’s Medical Association’s health initiative to raise awareness for sexual activity and STIs in professional sports. Condoms and lube, now a required part of every sport’s office’s med kit.”

 

Harry stared at him. “Remind me to thank the Athlete’s Medical Association generously in my will,” he said after a beat, before getting off the bed and striding over to the first aid kit on his wall, giving Eggsy a spectacular view of his arse. He rummaged in the kit for a moment before heading back, cock jutting out, dark and mouth-wateringly hard. He sat down and began to liberally drizzle lube on his fingers, rubbing them together so that it would warm up. Some of the clear liquid rolled down to Harry’s knuckles, making Eggsy feel somewhat lightheaded at the sight.

 

“You’re gonna do me in, mate,” Eggsy said weakly.

 

Harry’s eyebrows bunched together like something had just occurred to him. “Do you have practice tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow’s the Finalists’ gala,” Eggsy said. “So nope.”

 

“Thank god,” Harry said, depositing the container of lube on the mattress and pulling Eggsy’s hips towards him, reaching underneath Eggsy’s balls.

 

“Why?” Eggsy gasped, shivering as a slick finger skated over his perineum and began slowly, torturously circling Eggsy’s hole.

 

“It means I can fuck you without worrying if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” Harry said, and with that he slid two fingers into Eggsy causing him to arch his back _beautifully_.

 

“Oh _fuck_ yes, Harry,” he groaned, bowing his back even more to get Harry’s fingers in him deeper, harder. Harry stroked him ruthlessly, fingers rubbing inside of Eggsy, firm but controlled, never rough.

 

“That feels _so_ good,” Eggsy practically laughed, but the sound turned into a moan when Harry curved his fingers in a way that sent sparks flying up Eggsy’s spine. Eggsy twisted unable to lie still, overwhelmed by the touch. “So good, Harry,” he repeated breathlessly.

“You gorgeous thing,” Harry murmured, removing his fingers to add more lube, sliding them back in slick and easily, the heat squeezing around them sending a primal shudder through him. He bent down, still fingering Eggsy mercilessly, and rubbed his forehead against the boy’s hipbone, breathing in, kissing the dark blonde curls surrounding the base of Eggsy’s shaft that was straining from Harry’s ministrations. He felt Eggsy shiver, and not ceasing the motion of his fingers, Harry kissed the base of Eggsy’s cock once, twice, ran his mouth up along the shaft, and then was swallowing Eggsy down in one smooth motion.

 

Eggsy let out a strangled exclamation that could have been Harry’s name, but Harry missed it, dragging his lips back up Eggsy’s cock as tightly as he could, letting the tip rub lightly against his teeth.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Eggsy gasped, beads of precome beginning to pool translucently at the head. Harry lapped them all up, swirling his tongue around the salty head several times before swallowing down Eggsy’s girth again, fingers scissoring inside of him. He continued bobbing his head, sucking hard over Eggsy’s length all the while.

 

Harry glanced up taking in the vision of Eggsy’s flushed, sweat-slick, heaving body and felt himself grow even harder if that was possible. When Eggsy raised his head off the mattress he moaned when his eyes met Harry’s, panting at the sight of Harry’s dark head between his legs, mouth wrapped around his cock.

 

“You gotta get back up here,” Eggsy whined. “God I need you.”

 

Harry released Eggsy’s cock with a popping sound going back up to lean over Eggsy. Eggsy looked _completely_ wrecked already as he gazed up at Harry, reaching up to brush the man’s damp hair out of his face, fingers skittering along Harry’s jaw. His gaze fell on Harry’s mouth, red and flushed, slick from saliva and precome and he groaned out loud.

 

“Your mouth…oh god, kiss me, Harry, _now_.”

 

That broke Harry, who immediately swooped down, pinning Eggsy’s mouth with his. They kissed frantically, deliriously, lips rubbing, mouths wide, tongues meeting, the thick muscles sliding and curving together between them. In the midst of their kissing, Harry reached over to grab the condom he retrieved, breaking off to tear the packet open with his teeth.

 

“I hope you’re not expecting me to last long,” he said self-awarely, looking at Eggsy in want, leaning up to roll the condom over his thick cock, his chest flushed and rising and falling with every ragged breath.

 

“I hope you’re not expecting me to care,” Eggsy panted, reaching up to pull Harry back down over him. Harry quickly squeezed more lube onto his hard cock, rubbing it into the condom until it was dripping and glistening. And he ran his hand, still damp and sticky, along Eggsy’s thigh, gently lifting it until the boy’s hips were raised, and positioned himself properly, condom nudging at Eggsy’s stretched and slick entrance. He squeezed Eggsy’s thigh once in warning, and then was slowly, achingly sliding in.

 

Eggsy couldn’t say a thing, panting and concentrating so hard on the girth of Harry’s cock stretching him, sliding smoothly into him, torturously slow, meeting zero resistance because of how much lube he’d been careful to apply.

 

“Eggsy that’s –“ Harry gasped out, his lips parted, his forehead shining as he lowered it to Eggsy’s.

 

“I know,” Eggsy said back, clasping Harry’s face and kissing it anywhere he could reach. He rolled his hips up and then Harry was sliding the rest of the way into him with a snap, balls pressed heavily against Eggsy’s ass.

 

Both men moaned, hands going to each other’s bodies, stroking, squeezing, arms wrapping around each other as Harry’s hips began to move, pumping in and out of Eggsy in quick strokes. Harry’s head fell to Eggsy’s neck as he weakly kissed the boy’s collar-bone, hips still snapping in single minded focus. He could feel Eggsy’s cock rubbing between them with every thrust, throbbing against Harry’s stomach. He tried to angle himself to give it more friction as he slid his hand down Eggsy’s side, kissing Eggsy’s nipples, laving them with his tongue, sliding his hips forward in a seamless roll.

 

“Oh yeah just like that,” Eggsy said, hips eagerly meeting Harry’s every deep, delicious thrust, fingers going into Harry’s hair, soaking in how thick, how hot, how fucking _perfect_ the heavy slide of Harry inside of him felt. “Keep going.”

 

Eggsy couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt this close to anyone. It was like the dim, cramped, shadowy office existed as its own tiny speck in the universe where it was just the two of them, locked and straining together in the dark. He felt entirely out of his own body for a moment, like he was looking down at the long line of Harry on top of him, muscles knotting and rolling beneath the soft skin, the long line of his smooth back ending in his arse which was pumping up and down as he thrust into Eggsy, one glorious roll of his hips after another.

 

Harry voice saying something brought Eggsy crashing back to earth, and he turned his head, nose pressing into Harry’s ear to hear him better:

 

“Eggsy…my Eggsy…” Harry was gasping almost unconsciously into Eggsy’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah, yeah that’s right, yours,” Eggsy said fervently, turning his head to kiss the man wherever he could reach. “Come on, Harry, make me yours,” Eggsy whined, wrapping his arms around the man tighter, savouring the soft feeling of Harry’s skin as it pulsed and rolled where he was braced over Eggsy.

 

Harry paused for a moment breathing heavily. And then he was leaning up and changing his angle, fingers digging into Eggsy’s hips as he pulled them closer together where they were joined, even though they couldn’t have been any closer than they were now. He ground himself against Eggsy’s ass, somehow managing to get even _deeper_ and he began thrusting into Eggsy harder than ever.

 

Eggsy could feel a low, searing hot warmth in his gut, and it was only building, lighting him up inside with an _ache._ He could barely form a coherent thought in his head. It was like his entire existence had narrowed down to Harry’s hips, the throb of Harry inside of him, Harry’s right hand braced over Eggsy’s heart, his left hand trailing lovingly down Eggsy’s stomach until it was wrapped around Eggsy’s cock, pumping it in time with his hips, never breaking pace.

 

“Oh god yeah, Harry, darling,” Eggsy moaned, the endearment slipping from his lips without his notice, eyes fluttering shut as his toes curled and his back arched, the warmth pooling inside of him beginning to crackle, his cock _throbbing_ with the need for release.

 

“Oh _Eggsy_ ,” he heard Harry say, his voice thick with emotion, which caused Eggsy to open his eyes. And when he did he was greeted with the most glorious image imaginable of Harry above him, completely undone, hair falling into his eyes, his heaving chest a long column slick with sweat, every muscle in his body taut and straining in an effort to stay together like he was holding himself on a hair-trigger.

 

“ _God_ ,” Eggsy yelled, and then he was practically _exploding_ , coming with a shout and throwing his head back, his vision whiting out, thick ropes of come bursting out of his reddened cock and streaking out across his chest in pulse after pulse.

 

Eggsy spasmed over and over, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at Harry’s chest as Harry kept jerking his fist over Eggsy’s damp cock, Harry’s fingers slick and sticky from Eggsy’s release, thick come mingled with sweat, all of which was being rubbed steadily over him with every slide of Harry’s fist.

 

Eggsy went slack and boneless, and he opened his eyes again, looking dreamily up at Harry. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, this time being entirely aware of the endearment as he said it.

 

Harry let out a low sound of want that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep inside of him he leaned down, rubbing a hand across the mess on Eggsy’s chest, pumping wildly into Eggsy, holding his loose, pliant body as close to him as he could. His hips were snapping furiously as he thrust into Eggsy in rapid succession. And then Eggsy could feel Harry deliver three more deep, aching thrusts, and then Harry stiffened, his muscles taut and trembling, as he came with a groan, shaking all over, hips still pulsing through the aftershocks.

 

“Bloody gorgeous,” Eggsy gasped when Harry’s hips had finally stilled, and then man was slowly, dazedly easing himself back down onto Eggsy’s body where he lay pressing slow kisses against Eggsy’s chest.

 

“Mmm,” was all Harry could manage by way of agreement. He stroked Eggsy’s side, pressing down on Eggsy’s hip as he slipped his softening cock out of Eggsy, who whined a little at the loss. Harry silenced him with a kiss before dropping his head to Eggsy’s chest, resting it there against Eggsy’s sweat-slick skin, listening mesmerized to the boy’s heartbeat which was still hammering despite the languid way Eggsy stroked Harry’s damp hair, pressing the occasional kiss there.

 

They lay like that for several minutes in easy silence, just lightly caressing the other, hands soft and soothing as they traced paths over each other’s bodies, just in case there were any more that had gone undiscovered.

 

When Harry shifted to remove the condom and toss it unceremoniously into a wastebasket by the wall, Eggsy rolled into him to be pressed up against Harry’s chest, hands resting lightly on Harry’s hips. Harry smiled and put his arms around Eggsy and they lay there facing each other, foreheads touching, mouths close enough to steal light, languid kisses whenever the impulse struck, breathing each other in as their gazes met, drinking the sight of each other in.

 

“That was something else,” Eggsy mumbled sometime later. And he meant it too. He was a young, fit, football star and no stranger to sex, thank you very much. Since his twenties he’d indulged a few curiosities where sex was concerned, but if he were being honest, he’d never really understood what all the fuss was about. But this…sharing this with _Harry_ , oh god…he could have everything from Harry, and still Eggsy didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough.

 

“It really was,” Harry murmured, smiling against Eggsy’s lips.

 

Eggsy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Like I’m not imagining it, right?” he gabbled, some signature chattiness beginning to return along with his higher brain functions. “I’m not imagining that that was… _insanely_ spectacular, right?”

 

“You are most definitely not imagining it,” Harry said, reaching up to thumb Eggsy’s chin. “And just so you know…this doesn’t change what I said before. I’m yours always, as long as you want me,” he said simply. And Harry knew this wasn’t just the post-coital endorphins talking. He knew it was truth in his very bones.

 

“Harry, babe…no one has ever even come _close_ ,” Eggsy said, and it was true. When Harry had walked into Eggsy’s life it was like he’d been a magnet that had sent Eggsy spinning until Eggsy had locked onto him, simply following the invisible tugging feeling that seemed to link their hearts. “Long as you exist, that’s it for me.”

 

“Well then.” Harry smiled. “That’s that settled then.”

 

“Innit though,” Eggsy said grinning, and leaning forward a hair’s breadth to kiss Harry gently, without agenda, just because he wanted to.

 

When their lips eventually drew back, Eggsy yawned.

 

“We can sleep here, right? ‘Cause no way in hell am I moving right now.”

 

“We can indeed,” Harry answered, drawing Eggsy closer to him, their shared body heat all plastered up together serving better than a blanket. “Any idea when maintenance shows up in the mornings?”

 

“Eight-thirty, which really means nine,” Eggsy snorted. “Which means we shouldn’t get up later than eight. Seeing as how I want to blow you for at _least_ half an hour in the morning.”

 

Harry paused. “That can be arranged,” he said. Eggsy smirked and set an alarm on his phone before tossing it to the side, and curling back up against Harry.

 

They lay together in silence, breathing evening out, soul-deep contentment written in the lines of both of their mouths, limbs lightly draped over the other. As they were almost nodding off, Eggsy spoke up sleepily:

 

“I mean it though. You’ve _gotta_ show me that dribbling move sometime, I don’t care how long it takes.”

 

Harry pulled Eggsy closer, smiling despite himself.

 

“It’s not like it was _easy_ you know. Showing you could take a lifetime.”

 

Eggsy smiled against Harry’ chest.

 

“Good.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Merlin pushed through the wide double-doors to the hotel ballroom and was immediately hit with a blast of cocktail party chatter. He stood at the top of the ballroom’s grand staircase for a moment, surveying the scene beneath him on the main floor. The ballroom was packed with football royalty, all in their finest outfits, swirling from pocket of attendees to the next, and the room was a symphony of sounds from the whirr of camera shutters, sprightly jazz from the band on the stage, and the clinking of a hundred champagne glasses. Merlin straightened his glasses, adjusted the cuffs of the royal blue suit he’d donned for the occasion, squared his shoulders, and made his way down the richly carpeted staircase to the main ballroom floor. Showtime.

 

“Hello Angus, good to see you,” he said, shaking the hand of Middleborough’s coach, whom they’d beat the previous week, who was coming up the stairs. Not stopping he turned and touched a stylish-looking woman’s elbow “Sheila, are you writing the Vogue piece for this whole business again? Glad to hear it, is it only going to be about designers again?”

 

“Depends,” she said good-naturedly as he continued down the stairs. “Who are you wearing, Merlin?”

 

“Trade secret,” he called over his shoulder, hitting the main floor and continuing to greet guests, sponsors, and reporters all with the same polite brevity, to avoid being swamped like he most certainly would be if he waited for them to come to him first.

 

He continued across the ballroom, trading niceties with the legions of people all connected to the league in one way or another, whether they were a player, a team owner, a journalist, or an official. God but football had gotten big. It used to be just about the teams, just about the games. But now it was a whole culture, a whole community with no shortage of politics, people to please, egos to stroke, and relationships to be maintained. It was probably Merlin’s _least_ favourite part of a job he otherwise loved, but he covered it well. No one looking at him would have suspected the mechanicalness with which he went through the motions of accepting congratulations from England’s top football figures. He was every inch the professional coach, and knowing eyes were on him tonight he went through the expectations of his public persona seamlessly. But nonetheless he still wished Roxy were there to give him a hand in navigating the hordes of people wanting to rub shoulders with him. He might have had events like the Finalists’ Gala down to a science, but Roxy had them down to an art.

 

No such luck though. He tended to know the second Roxy walked into a room, and she hadn’t arrived yet. But casting an eagle eye around the ballroom he spotted some of his players standing in a circle and felt a slight sense of relief. Dodging a waiter holding a tray of champagne glasses and deftly avoiding a sponsor dripping in jewelry who was trying to clutch his suit jacket, he maneuvered his way over to them.

 

“Is it just me or do these things get more packed every year?” he said, stepping between Eggsy and Hugo, and joining their circle.

 

“I think it’s fun,” Charlie said. “I heard the Earl and Countess of Wessex are supposed to be making an appearance. Too bad they couldn’t bring Wills and Kate, huh?”

 

“Yes, the football prowess of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge is second to none, Charlie,” Merlin said, and Charlie bristled slightly. “I just don’t see why we can’t have these events _after_ the Final, this is ridiculous. I mean you have a game tomorrow _afternoon_ and yet you’re expected to be here hobnobbing and –“

 

“Oi, Merlin, relax,” Eggsy said grinning at him, in a well-fitting, tailored suit that Merlin was pretty sure was new. He wondered who had advised Eggsy on a tailor’s. The lad normally dressed for these events with the indifference of someone who visibly didn’t care what was twill and what was tweed.

 

“I’ll relax after the final,” Merlin said, shuffling his feet impatiently. But he nodded at the suit, impressed despite himself. “Looking good, Eggsy.”

 

“Feeling good, Merlin. Sip?” Eggsy asked, offering over his champagne glass. Merlin raised an eyebrow at it and Eggsy rolled his eyes. “It’s 7-Up mate.” Merlin glanced suspiciously at the glasses in the hands of his other players. He opened his mouth and Digby beat him to it.

 

“Eggsy already checked, Coach” he said. “We know your no-drinking before a game rule. Although I don’t see what harm _one_ glass of champagne would do…”

 

“Yes, thank you, Digby,” Merlin interrupted. “And thanks, Eggsy, yes please” he said, accepting Eggsy’s glass of soda and tossing it back. As he lowered his head he groaned as he caught sight of an elegant looking couple waving him over. “Fuck, they’ve seen me,” he grumbled. He sighed and then stood up straighter. “Charlie, want to come meet an Earl?” he asked, by way of an olive branch for being short with his center forward earlier. “See you at the dinner, lads,” he said, and he and Charlie left the circle.

 

“Poor Merlin,” Eggsy laughed. “If anyone needs to break his no-drinking rule it’s him.”

 

“No kidding,” said Hugo. “Christ I could do with some of that wine,” he said looking longingly at glass that passed by the gloved hand of someone Eggsy was _pretty_ sure was in the Royal Family.

 

“He’s got a point,” said Andrew, their newer midfielder said, swirling around his own soda, the crystal glass standing out against the dark skin of his hand. “I remember at Eton we all hopped the fence to go to a pub before one of our games, just to relax. The idea was one pint, but who stops at one? Players were throwing up left, right and center on the field. Thing was a vomit minefield.”

 

“Oh gross,” Eggsy laughed, wrinkling his nose. “Reminds me of when Merlin took revenge on me and Rox for breaking into the Kingsmen club’s liquor cabinet. Oh you hadn’t joined then yet, had you mate?” He told Andrew the team-favourite story of how he and their normally-poised other captain were caught by Merlin while engaging in some innocent drinking, and were forced to practice early the next morning until both were throwing up behind the bleachers while Merlin had stood there looking _way_ too amused, the wanker.

 

Andrew laughed after it was done. “You I _know_ are mad, Unwin. But I always forget what a devil Rox can be too.”

 

“Speak of the devil,” Hugo said in an admiring tone, and they all looked up to see Roxy descending the grand staircase amidst a flurry of flashbulbs. Eggsy let out a low whistle and broke into a grin.

 

Roxy stepped lightly down the carpeted steps, swinging her loose, dark gold hair behind her shoulders as she chatted pleasantly with reporters, never breaking her motion. None seemed to notice they were only getting about five seconds of Roxy-time, since everyone’s eyes were glued to her dress. She was wearing a gown of scarlet satin that slipped and shimmied over the lean, liquid lines of her body as she sashayed down the steps and made her way over to her teammates.

 

“Miss Morton, you fucking showstopper,” Eggsy said, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Well you guys clean up pretty nice yourselves,” Roxy said smiling, the small diamonds on her necklace winking at them where they were slung around her bare shoulders. “New suit, Eggs?”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Eggsy said, straightening his green bowtie that was so dark it was almost black, against his forest green shirt. The whole thing was held together by a dark suit that was tailored within an inch of its life. A couple of silver cufflinks were the final, stylish touch. “Got a good tailor recommendation.”

 

“I’ll say,” Roxy said, raising an eyebrow suggestively, which Eggsy didn’t take seriously for a second. “You all look great by the way,” she said, addressing the rest of their teammates. “I only mentioned Eggsy’s suit because I already knew you guys were capable of dressing yourselves,” and they all hooted at their other captain’s expense.

 

“Yeah yeah,” Eggsy said. “You got a drink yet, Rox?”

 

“I’ll go to the bar,” she said casually, and then narrowed her eyes at the crystal glasses they were holding. “Is that –“

 

“ _They checked_ ,” the team almost shouted, having already gotten the third degree about what they were drinking from Eggsy first, then their coach, and now their other captain.

 

“Alright, alright,” Roxy said amused. “Back in a bit.”

 

She left the circle, strawberry silk swishing, and made her way over to the bar, heels clicking on the ballroom floor. Low heels of course, she didn’t need to risk a turned ankle right before the final. But the extra height suited the line of her dress, she knew. When she’d first joined the team she’d been so conscious of her only-girl status that she’d dressed down for all public events, never wanting to call unnecessary attention to what she was wearing and get more questions about her clothes than her playing. But eventually she’d relaxed, as it was ultimately too depressing to always dress in neutral, boring, good taste. Roxy Morton knew clothes dammit, and screw anyone who placed her own exceptional style above her playing.

 

She shimmied her way in between the crush of elaborately dressed guests, and headed toward the large, ornate, oaken bar at the end of the hotel ballroom. She loved the venue the Gala was being held at this year, but Christ, did they have to put the bar so far away from the action? She straightened her necklace as she looked around for the easiest path to get there, and then froze.

 

Merlin. Impossible to miss, tall as he was, standing out against the other guests. And wearing a royal blue suit with clean lines, that seemed to shine slightly under the light of the ballroom’s chandeliers. Her mouth went dry and her heart started pounding in a low rhythm. And when he looked up and saw her, eyes widening just barely behind his glasses, one corner of his mouth turning up softly, she felt her heart kick into overdrive.

 

She hadn’t always…felt this way about their coach. When she’d first joined the Kingsmen she’d trained with a single-minded focus, aware of the extra spotlight on her, wanting to do the best she could in the face of its glare. She was there to play, and prove she’d earned her spot. Becoming fast friends with Eggsy had been an unexpected but happy side-effect, seeing as how she’d gotten the sense he’d always felt like an outsider too. Things had relaxed enough in the team that she’d become friendly with the other boys too, not to mention her coach.

 

But then one day everything had changed. She’d always respected the hell out of Merlin for his coaching genius, his fairness, and his willingness to have a girl on the team. And of course she liked him immensely as a person for his low-key humour, and total focus. But then about a year into her playing he’d called her into his office to ask if she’d consider being Eggsy’s co-captain.

 

“Me?” she’d asked, astounded. She’d been focusing on her team’s performance for its own sake, not because she was angling for any promotion.

 

Merlin had frowned. “Who else? You’re the best I’ve ever seen, Roxy, on and off the field” he’d said, like he was simply stating a fact. He’d then stretched nonchalantly in his chair, taking off his glasses to clean them on the hem of his sweater, and just like that her heart had flipped over in her chest, and she’d spent the past year madly in love with a man who might have been twice her age, but as far as she was concerned, was every bit her equal where it counted.

 

Of course she hadn’t told him her feelings. She hadn’t even told Eggsy, her best mate. First girl on the team has a massive crush on the coach? It was too cliché to be true.

 

But the thing was…she often got the sense that Merlin felt the exact same way. She was _sure_ he did. But his hands were tied as well, and so any attraction had been half-sublimated into their everyday player-coach relationship. Little things like when he tossed her football equipment in practice before she needed to ask for it, the way their gazes always seemed to meet in team huddles, the way he knew how to fix her tea when she was over for strategy meetings, the way he lent her books from his expansive library that she’d only mentioned to him once that she’d been wanting to read, the way his eyes first sparkled then went soft when she made strategy suggestions he liked…

 

But it was all pointless. As her coach, even if he did feel the same way about her he’d only turn her down for the sake of the team. Which she respected him for even more. She’d do the same as a coach. And even if _he_ thought it would be alright for them to be together, well…Roxy hadn’t gotten this far and risen this high in football for people to suspect her of sleeping her way to the top.

 

She smoothed her hands on her gown, which had started shaking slightly, overwhelmed by just the mere _thought_ of sleeping with Merlin, and bravely squared her shoulders, telling her hammering heart to _shut up_ already, as she stepped forward to go say hello to her coach, who was still standing there staring like her was drinking her in.

 

But all of a sudden her way was blocked by a dark brown, conservatively cut suit.

 

“Miss Morton, you look absolutely splendid,” Arthur, the team owner said warmly.

 

“Thank you, sir,” she said smiling at him, but secretly annoyed since he was blocking her way.

 

“I don’t think I had the chance to offer my congratulations on your performance in the semis,” he went on. “But I was very pleased. I don’t tell you enough but I was thrilled when we were able to add a player or your ability, not to mention your pedigree to our team.”

 

“My parents send their regards, and are sorry they couldn’t make it,” she said automatically, before he could inevitably inquire after them. They’d always understood their daughter’s need to prove her own worth. Having two members of the aristocracy in tow at her events would have been a distraction.

 

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” he said pleasantly. “Of course there is no shortage of people to catch up, with how crowded these events are getting. Speaking of which, I seem to have lost my date. I don’t suppose you’d like their drink? There’s quite a crush at the bar,” he said, holding out a wine glass to her.

 

“No thank you,” she said. “What with the Final tomorrow and all. None of us are drinking tonight, I’m sure you understand.”

 

“Oh go on,” he said with a wink. “I won’t tell Merlin,” he said, thrusting the glass into her hand before she could refuse. “He’s always been such a stick in the mud. And he also doesn’t seem to understand football is changing. It’s about sponsors and the public sphere now. His nose has always been too stuck in his useless plays and strategies. But I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all that,” he laughed pompously.

 

“I’m sure you don’t,” she said coolly. “Excuse me.” She brushed past him, still holding the wineglass. She looked around for somewhere to place it and a waiter walked by with an empty tray. “Can I give you this?” she asked. “I haven’t touched it.”

 

At her words, a woman in a jewel-pink dress snapped it up immediately, with a “Oh then in that case do you mind? That bar is much too crowded for me.” Roxy smiled at her, but still couldn’t shake the cold feeling that had come over her from her encounter with Arthur.

 

“Wanker,” she muttered under her breath. “Eggsy’s right about you one way or another.” She looked around but Merlin had become swamped again. And suppressing a sigh, she made her way over to the bar.

 

In the wake of her absence, Arthur shrugged, and cast an eye around the ballroom. His eyes narrowed when he picked out the Unwin lad among a group of his other, much more qualified teammates. Disgraceful what football was becoming. He felt bad for the other lads on the team, boys from good backgrounds who all belonged there. Unwin might have had some good footwork, Arthur couldn’t deny that. But it was a question of _belonging_. It was this kind of liberal hiring that was dragging down the game culture Arthur had always tried to maintain.

 

But he affixed a pleasant smile to his face and made his way over the boys, who all stood at attention at their boss coming over. All but Unwin of course, who was looking entirely too rakish in a dark green suit, as though a traditional tux would have killed him.

 

“Boys, boys, boys,” Arthur said smiling. “Wonderful to see you all looking so well. Might I extend my most heartfelt congratulations and best wishes for tomorrow? I have no doubt how you’ll perform.”

 

They all murmured thanks, and Arthur turned to Unwin. “Eggsy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Valentine team has arrived. It might benefit everyone if you were to find that young lady and apologize to her for your conduct the last time you played them, hmm? Think of the reputation of your team.”

 

The boy appraised him, the hostility palpable. But then his countenance melted into a cheery posture, and he sent a presumptuous grin Arthur’s way.

 

“But of course, Arthur,” he said, his grin practically a sneer. “I wouldn’t want to betray my own team now, would I?” He clapped that tall boy who played nets on the shoulder, and brushed past Arthur with more force than necessary.

 

“You arsehole,” Eggsy mumbled through gritted teeth. He was already going to apologize to ‘The Gazelle’ himself of course, not that she deserved it, but that was just how he was. But god, did Arthur need to make it sound like _everything_ Eggsy did was the result of some major character flaw?

 

‘Whatever, I’m onto you, you posh wanker,’ he thought, with a low anger for how Arthur had almost _certainly_ given Kingsmen plays to the Valentines in their last game. Why, Eggsy had no idea, but for now he had a Final to focus on, and a captain to make nice with.

 

He made his way over to the corner of the ballroom where the Valentines were holding court. The players were all milling about with a number of aides, dates, and other assorted hanger-ons. Feeling like he was headed into enemy territory, Eggsy stood up straight and walked over to Giselle, whose back was to him. She was a tall column of white silk, hair hanging straight down her back in glossy black contrast. He cleared his throat, and tapped her on the shoulder, and she slowly turned around, mouth curving up when she saw who it was.

 

“Well if it isn’t Eggsy,” she purred in apparent delight. “We were all just talking about you. Saying how we’d better go easy on you tomorrow or you might lose your temper again. Who knows who you’ll tackle next?”

 

“Well that’s why I’m here,” he said politely. “I know I already sent a note, but I thought I’d just offer my apologies in person –“

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said holding up a finger. “I’ll only accept your apology after you do me a favor.” When Eggsy looked at her puzzled, she grinned, baring her teeth. “Get me a drink, would you? I’m parched, and that bar is _such_ a long way,” she said, tapping her silver prosthetic meaningfully against the ballroom floor.

 

Eggsy’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t a fucking waiter. But what choice did he have really, with other people watching? So he plastered on a smile, and gave a low, sardonic bow.

 

“And here they said my experience working in dive bars would never amount to anything,” he drawled, making the joke before they could, and turning on his heel to head across the ballroom.

 

On his way back from the bar he bumped into Roxy who eyed the gin and tonic he held suspiciously. “Who’s that for?”

 

“Gazelle,” he said, drawing out the nickname ironically. “Arthur told me to go apologize, and now she’s got me fetching her drinks.” He shook his head. “S’alright,” he said, but Roxy could see his eyes were hard. He brushed past her and Roxy got the beginnings of a bad feeling. She knew Eggsy would behave but she could see the warning signs of temper, and she knew that Valentine girl would poke any weak spot she could find. And hell if Roxy was going to let Eggsy go it alone.

 

Through the crowd she saw the florid face and sweaty bald head of Rodney Sleeds, one of the most gormless, tactless, graceless reporters she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. She’d never been happier to see him in her life. Plastering on a brilliant media smile, she made her way over to him, taking care to tread on his foot.

 

“Oh Rodney, I’m _so_ sorry!” she said aghast. “This damn dress keeps getting in the way I tell you,” she said with a tinkling laugh, drawing her crimson hem aside.

 

“No problem, Roxy,” he boomed in an overly familiar manner, delighted at being addressed by name by arguably one of the biggest stars of the night. “Those shoes are a little harder to walk in than cleats, aren’t they?”

 

“Right you are,” she said, tossing her head back and laughing more than the comment deserved. “I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry, but to tell you the truth I was just rushing because I’m a bit worried about my friend Giselle,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

 

“And why’s that?” Rodney asked in a dramatically hushed voice, leaning in eagerly.

 

“Well this is all off the record of course,” she said, looking around, checking for other ears, before leaning in more, breath fluttering against Rodney’s ruddy face. “But everyone’s talking about how _nervous_ she is, poor thing. Apparently she’s completely convinced they’re going to lose tomorrow and is worried about playing against Eggsy.”

 

“You mean because of when he tackled her?” Rodney asked, eyes widening.

 

“No, of course not!” Roxy said earnestly. “Water under the bridge, don’t you know we’re all mates? But she says he’s the only player who can give her a run for her money. I heard she specifically asked to change her forwarding side, just so she wouldn’t have to go head-to-head with him tomorrow.”

 

“Wow,” Rodney said, rapt, and Roxy nodded in agreement.

 

“Tell me about it. Anyways I should get over there, I think they’re talking now and she looks nervous. Us girls have to stick together, right?” she said brightly. And giving Rodney’s cheek a peck she stepped past him, making a beeline straight for Merlin, around whom a space had finally cleared.

 

“Roxy,” he said, his face lighting up. “You look –“

 

“Valentines and Eggsy, three o’clock,” she said brusquely. “Meet me there.”

 

Merlin’s eyes immediately snapped into understanding and christ, Roxy couldn’t have adored him more if she tried. She gave his arm a squeeze and strode across the ballroom to join Eggsy, certain that Merlin was extricating himself from the hordes of people all wanting to brush shoulders with one of the main men of the hour.

 

Arriving where Eggsy stood opposite Giselle, Roxy slipped into position next to Eggsy, as neatly as she did on the field.

 

“Roxy!” Giselle said, her smile a wicked blade in her strong face. “Nice dress. I especially like the cutouts in the side. Even if you don’t win tomorrow, you still might make some best-dressed lists.”

 

“Giselle,” Roxy smiled warmly. “Nice game last time. I especially liked how your playing improved only _after_ Eggsy got sent off the field. Must make a difference, knowing what your weaknesses are, doesn’t it?”

 

“Oh I agree,” Giselle said. “I make it a point to know weaknesses. Mine and other people’s. Although I still can’t decide what yours is. Is it your nerves whenever you take a shot? Or is it your boyfriend?”

 

“Eggsy’s not my boyfriend,” said Roxy for what felt like the ninety-millionth time since she’d joined the Kingsmen.

 

“Oh I meant tall, bald, and handsome, coming over to keep an eye on us,” Giselle said smugly at Roxy’s blush as Merlin approached their trio. “Mr. Graham! Was just chatting with your remarkable players. You sure keep a close eye on them don’t you? Anyone would think you didn’t trust them.”

 

“Not anyone,” said Merlin pleasantly. “Only people digging for reactions I’d wager.”

 

Eggsy had lost some of his tension the moment Roxy had slid up beside him, and the rest of it seemed to evaporate now that Merlin was here. He’d never met anyone more unflappable in the face of all the pettiness and attempted intimidation tactics that went on in professional sports.

 

“Speaking of coaches,” Merlin continued neutrally. “Where is Richmond? Anyone would think he didn’t care about his team.”

 

“Well they’d be wrong,” said an unmistakable voice, and Merlin, Eggsy, and Roxy all turned around to see Richmond Valentine standing in a bright, plum-coloured suit, grinning magnanimously at them. “My team is practically family to me, ain’t that right, Gazzy?”

 

The ‘Gazelle’ slipped past them to stand by her coach as they all eyed each other, faces completely polite, but with defensive body language.

 

‘Hurry up, Rodney you moron,’ Roxy thought anxiously.

 

“Merlin,” said Valentine enthusiastically. “I _loved_ your plays in the last game, man. Loved. Them. There’s something about the way the English play that’s so _boring_ , so conservative, but you always manage to impress me.”

 

“Must be the Scottish element,” said Merlin pleasantly.

 

“Well whatever it is, you sure know how to pick your players, man, respect,” Valentine said, clapping his hands together. “Roxy, Eggsy, we’ve never met! Eggsy, you’re gonna keep your hands off my players tomorrow, right?” he laughed loudly. “I’m kidding man, I’m kidding, no hard feelings, these things happen. And Roxy. Look. At. You,” he said with a low whistle that was nowhere near as well-intentioned as when Eggsy had done the same. “I can see why Merlin hired _you_!”

 

Merlin’s mouth tightened for the first time. “Valentine, you ought to –“

 

Whatever he thought Valentine should do was interrupted by a bright camera flash. And poking his flushed face out from behind a large camera was Rodney, football’s most loathed reporter, arriving with better timing than Roxy could have possibly hoped for. At least with a camera around no one was going to lose their heads, exactly what she’d been planning for.

 

“Look at this!” he said in delight at his having caught all of the Final’s biggest names standing together. “Are you all excited for tomorrow?”

 

They all murmured noncommittal agreements, some of the tension bleeding out as their irritation became directed at Rodney’s presence.

 

“That’s great, just great,” Rodney said, bobbing his head. “And Giselle, don’t worry, eh? I know everyone’s talking about how you asked to switch positions ‘cause you think Eggsy’s a better player, but we all get nervous, don’t we yeah? Even in the big leagues it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

Giselle’s face instantly went as scarlet as Roxy’s dress, while Roxy suppressed a snort with a cough.

 

“Who the hell is saying –“ Giselle began hotly, but he interrupted her again.

 

“So what do we think the odds are tomorrow?” he asked laughing as though their standing together was the greatest joke. “Wait what am I doing asking _you_? We need an impartial opinion! Oi, Mr. Hart!” he called over their shoulders. “Come settle something for us!”

 

Harry Hart materialized from the crowd of guests, walking towards them in an elegant smoking jacket, white handkerchief poking out of the pocket. His handsome face above his silk bowtie appraised them neutrally as he walked over, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise at the group that had accumulated of Merlin, Valentine, the Gazelle, Roxy, and Eggsy. His gaze finally rested on Eggsy, whose face had taken on a flash of longing, which the lad quickly tamped down. Harry felt his heart stir, and allowed himself the briefest of smiles at Eggsy’s stunning suit, before turning his attention to the insufferable reporter.

 

“How can I help you, Mr. Sleed?” he asked.

 

“Just wanted your professional opinion on who’s gonna win tomorrow,” said Rodney grinning.

 

“Well that’s easy of course,” said Harry. “The best team will.”

 

“Aw you’re no fun at all,” Rodney said, hooting.

 

“When have I ever been accused of being fun?” Harry asked with a smile. “Mr. Valentine. Merlin. Good luck to you and your players tomorrow. Ah, Arthur,” he said suddenly. “Come over to offer support to your favourite team, have you?” he asked the Kingsmen owner who had just joined the group assembled.

 

“Oh Harry,” Arthur said laughing. “You know me too well.”

 

“Oh but this is too good to be true!” Rodney fairly squealed, looking at all the football royalty that had been combined under his very nose. “Can I get a photo of you all? Please? Oh and you’re all in every colour, this is going to look _great_. Say cheese!”

 

And so Harry in black, Merlin in royal blue, Arthur in thick brown, Valentine in rich purple, Giselle in icy white, Roxy in red, and Eggsy in deep green, all stood in an eye-catching rainbow line while everyone around them looked on appreciatively at the glittering collection of football superstardom. And shoulder-to-shoulder they all gave the camera a smile, the only genuine one belonging to Valentine.

 

“That is gonna turn out _swell_ ,” Rodney said gleefully. “I’ll send you a copy, yeah Roxy?”

 

“My hero,” she said, smiling with more sincerity than she’d done in the photo. And after he left there seemed no reason for the group to stay standing together. They exchanged civil nods and broke off into factions, Arthur going off talking about dinner being served soon, Valentine and Giselle wandering off heads together as they whispered, and Harry, and Merlin and his players still standing where they were.

 

“Go on ahead, you two,” Merlin said nodding at them. “Go find our table.” Eggsy and Roxy looked at them curiously, but they linked hands and walked off to the dining room.

 

“Come to offer ‘support for your favourite team’?” Merlin quoted at Harry, as soon as they’d left. “Subtle, Hart. Subtle.”

 

“What?” shrugged Harry. “He’s an arsehole and he’s not going to last anyways. We’ve got enough.”

 

“Well just go easy, alright? It’s the final tomorrow, no need to ruffle feathers now,” said Merlin.

 

“Alright, coach,” Harry said, with the faintest of eyerolls, suddenly fighting the impulse to stick his tongue out at his former captain.

 

“Any more news?” Merlin asked, lowering his voice.

 

“Not on that front no,” Harry said as they continued walking through the crowd, cutting a striking pair as people eyed the two former teammates, their reunification for this tournament a source of excitement for some of the older football fans in the room. “But if you mean news of life in general…” he stopped and turned to Merlin. “I’ve met someone,” he said, a practically shy smile finding its way to his face.

 

Merlin stopped, amazed. “Someone special I take it?”

 

Harry shrugged, cheeks pink. “Would ‘love of my life’ do?”

 

“Harry,” was all Merlin could manage, absolutely gobsmacked but delighted. His old friend was never interested in anyone, let alone this visibly _smitten_. “I’m happy for you, mate, really. When do I get to meet them?”

 

“Well that’s the thing,” Harry said, suddenly looking wary. “I suppose there’s something I ought to tell you, something I should have told you sooner, only we hadn’t even worked it out ourselves until now, but –“

 

Just then there was a chiming over the ballroom’s speaker system that indicated dinner.

 

Merlin sighed, as they’d reached the dining room which was full of round tables covered in white linen table cloths, pink roses, and shimmering candles. “I have to go. Look we’ve probably been seen chatting too much tonight as it is, there’s only so much friendliness former teammates can get away with. But after tomorrow you and I are due for a long catch up, alright? And you can tell me all about him.”

 

“Will do,” said Harry, giving Merlin’s elbow a pat and they parted ways, Harry going off to sit at the table for tournament officials, and Merlin heading off to the quadrant of tables reserved for his team.

 

He slid into a seat between Eggsy and Roxy, unfolding the napkin at his place, and giving an indignant look to a waiter who’d come by with a wine bottle. The waiter shrunk back, and Merlin prepared himself for the endless onslaught of speeches, thanks, and awards that were already being kicked off by the evening’s MC, an esteemed former footballer of the Crimsons and congenial public speaker. He’d been a player a bit before Merlin’s time, but had been the host of these things for as long as Merlin could remember.

 

Eggsy was groaning as he looked at the evening’s program. “Thanks from the league’s director-general, speech from Valentine about sports entering the technological world, covering all the donations from sponsors…Merlin! We’re not expected to stay here for all of this, are we?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m sending you lot home when it hits the silent auction,” Merlin promised.

 

“Thank god,” Roxy said. “Any way we can change these things so that they’re not on the evening _right_ before the Final? I mean I guess it’s a good way to relieve stress but good lord, you’d think our sleep would be more of a priority to them.”

 

“You can make the suggestion the next time you all make the Final,” said Merlin, smiling, leaning back as the waiters started to descend on the tables with the first courses, escargot swimming in a pool of lemon butter. “It’s the two-pronged fork, Eggsy,” he added to his captain, who was staring intently at the cutlery on the table.

 

“I remember,” said Eggsy with a look of concentration. “I was just deciding which one I wanted to stab myself with first.”

 

Merlin snorted, and the table began eating, chatting in low voices, while the MC made announcement after announcement.

 

“And now for a talk from one of the great tech innovators of all time, and one of our very own League coaches for this year’s Final, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Richmond Valentine!"

 

The guests in the dining room applauded enthusiastically, the flamboyant coach always a novelty and ‘quirkier’ than the social circles they were used to. He was also probably richer than anyone else in the room, and well, that was impressive.

 

The Kingsmen’s tables were considerably more lukewarm in their applause, but outwardly polite, as Valentine, clad in his purple suit, sauntered onto the stage.

 

“Thank you, oh thank you all,” he said, waving his hands. “You can stop applauding…oh okay, keep it up, yeah that’s right!” He laughed and strode about the stage basking in his reception.

 

“I won’t be long, I know you’re all busy people, but thank you _so_ much for your time,” he said.

 

“And for your plays,” Eggsy muttered darkly, not over the Valentines having stolen their strategies.

 

“Drop it, lad,” Merlin said warningly.

 

“I can’t believe you’re just gonna let them get away with that!” Eggsy hissed.

 

“No one’s getting away with anything,” Merlin said. “Remember what I told you? You do your job and I’ll do mine. Do you trust me?”

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy grudgingly allowed. “It just sucks.”

 

“So does this speech,” Merlin said, a look of annoyance finally making its way to his face as he allowed some of Valentine’s talk to filter through his attention.

 

“Computer-generated football strategies?” Roxy asked, wrinkling her nose. “Is he really expecting anyone to take this seriously?”

 

“It would appear so,” Merlin said, frowning.

 

“Oi, what happened to using instinct? Or I dunno, common fucking sense?” said Eggsy.

 

“Or trial and error,” Merlin agreed.

 

“This _cannot_ be the future of football,” Roxy said distastefully, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

 

“I certainly hope not,” murmured Merlin. They were all shushed loudly from another table, and resignedly turned their attention back to the speech, which was just coming to a close.

 

“…and that is why Valentine Corporation is _proud_ to be paving the way for modern athletics, and to prove that sports and business and technology can _all_ coexist. Isn’t a football kick more beautiful when you can calculate it? Shouldn’t a goalie make judgments based on statistics when he or she decides which way to jump for the ball? Imagine not having to look before you leap! The future is now, ladies and gentlemen, and Valentine Corporation cannot _wait_ to take you there,” finished Valentine with a low bow, and the ballroom cheered approvingly, some standing up as he made his way off the stage.

 

“What a load of bollocks,” Eggsy snorted.

 

“Too right,” Roxy added, pushing her water glass to the side as the waiters came by with a salmon main course. The table dug in hungrily, as the MC made more announcements of the main donations for the past year’s football season.

 

“And one more donation which isn’t listed in your programs because it arrived just today…” Eggsy took a sip of water, half-listening to the MC.

 

“The benefactor wished to remain anonymous, but I think we all owe him too much thanks indeed for his generous contribution…so thank you for the donation of five-thousand pounds to the Athlete’s Medical Association, our very own replacement referee, Mr. Harry Hart!”

 

Eggsy immediately choked on his swallow of water, practically _spraying_ half his mouthful across the table, hacking on the rest.

 

“Eggsy, Christ, you alright lad?” Merlin asked in alarm.

 

“I’m fine,” Eggsy said taking deep, rattling breaths, his eyes streaming. He was in fact trying _desperately_ not to laugh.

 

Everyone around them clapped approvingly, all assuming that Harry’s donation was related to his own famous injury which had been treated by the Medical Association. Not, as Eggsy knew, for their policy of including condoms in first aid kits, a policy that had resulted in some very conveniently placed condoms that Harry had used just last night on, well, Eggsy.

 

Eggsy was practically shaking as he scanned the ballroom, catching site of Harry who sat there, politely inclining his head in acknowledgement of the applause he was getting. But when he briefly glanced across the room at Eggsy, he gave the barest shrug of his shoulders, mouthing ‘What?, the glimmers of a far-too-innocent smile around his mouth.

 

Eggsy just shook his head, holding back a grin. Hart was a lunatic. He turned back to his table and caught Merlin eyeing him suspiciously as he glanced between Eggsy and the refs’ table.

 

“What?” Eggsy said, a near perfect echo of the shrug Harry had just given him.

 

“What was the name of that tailor you went to again?” asked Merlin, a horrible theory forming.

 

Eggsy suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Forget the name. Some place on Saville Row.”

 

Merlin suddenly felt like his feet had been yanked out from under him. “Oh you’ve got to be _kidding_ me.”

 

“ _What_?” Eggsy asked again, and Roxy looked at the two of them in confusion. But they were interrupted by the figure of the MC taking the stage again.

 

“We have one final award to give out as we arrive at the end of our football season, one that is traditionally bestowed at the Finalists’ Gala,” he said, holding up a round pink medal on a striped ribbon in his hand. Merlin shushed them, as the audience turned rapt to look at one of football’s biggest honors.

 

“As you know we award the Pink Shield to a player who has gone above and beyond the mere call of duty in sports, and shown remarkable dedication, loyalty, and performance in the League. This player must also have displayed extraordinary athleticism, the kind that reminds us of what playing in higher sports is about. That is why it is my great honour to present this year’s Pink Shield to none other than…Miss Roxy Morton of the UK Kingsmen!” the MC finished with a flourish.

 

The four tables that housed the Kingsmen team immediately _leapt_ to their feet, cheering at the top of their lungs, hollering and pounding their feet as Roxy sat their in shock.

 

“Get up, luv!” Eggsy shouted laughing, beaming with genuine delight as the rest of the ballroom got to their feet, applauding wildly.

 

Merlin – who was smiling fit to burst – offered her his arm, and Roxy seemed to snap to, accepting it gratefully as she got to her feet while the rest of the team stamped and cheered. Merlin escorted her through the loudly applauding dining room, all of its attendees on their feet whistling as football’s brightest star made her way by them, red dress glimmering under the spotlights. None of the guests who’d seen her performance on and off the field, this past year especially, had any doubt in their minds as to how deserved the award was.

 

The applause put on a fresh burst as they reached the stage, and her coach bestowed a quick kiss on her cheek before turning her over the MC who escorted her up the steps. Merlin made it back to his cheering tables just in time to see the medal being affixed to Roxy’s dress. Eggsy put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly as their table laughed at how genuinely delighted and befuddled their captain looked as she went over to the microphone in a bit of a daze.

 

“Gosh,” she said, obviously stunned. Laughing a little, she looked over at the MC and mouthed something that was clearly ‘ _holy shit_ ’, and the warmly applauding audience burst into laughter.

 

She turned back to the microphone. “This is…a huge honor, one I wasn’t expecting at all, but…thank you _so_ much.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m up here at all, but if there’s a reason for it, it’s,” she squinted against the glare of spotlights into the crowd, face breaking out in a smile when she spotted her team. “Those four tables over there,” she said pointing, and the team broke out cheering again. She laughed at them. “The UK Kingsmen, ladies and gentlemen. Best team I’ve ever played with. Merlin, the best and most brilliant coach I’ve ever met, and Eggsy, the best co-captain a girl could ask for. No matter what people say about football, or what technology people try to add in the name of ‘progress’, there’s not a _single_ thing you guys can do that a computer can do better.”

 

Eggsy leaned forward smiling so hard he thought his face would split. He exchanged fist-bumps with Hugo sitting across from him, and Merlin ruffled his hair up a bit, smiling as wide as Eggsy.

 

“You know, I never got into all this because I was trying to make a difference. I…I only ever wanted to be a football player, and be _seen_ as a football player in turn. And…and tonight I feel like I have been, so –“ and here she broke off to swallow before continuing. “So thank you all so much. This means a great deal.” And with a nod of her head she left the stage with a big, silly grin.

 

“I’m gonna fucking cry, bruv,” Eggsy said to Merlin, blinking rapidly as he clapped loudly.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Merlin, but in a suspiciously hoarse voice.

 

Roxy finally made it back to their table, having had to shake many of the hands offered to her on her path through the tables, and was immediately swamped by her team.

 

“Well done, mate,” Eggsy said thickly, giving her a quick squeeze, before stepping back and letting everyone else take their turn.

 

“Alright folks, you’re free to make use of the hotel bar as we take a short recess,” said the MC. “There will be coffee and desert later on, and you have thirty minutes to make a final tour of the silent auction. Stretch your legs and get those bids going!”

 

Eggsy decided to take the MC’s advice, and with a final wink at Roxy who was being absolutely mobbed, he made his way around the room as all the other guests slowly got to their feet, stretching widely. He meandered over to the silent auction table, snorting slightly at the range of art, old football collector’s items, VIP ticket deals, and vacation packages to what felt like more golf ranges than necessary.

 

“Looking to take up golf after your football career, Mr. Unwin?” a voice said across from him, and Eggsy looked up to see Harry who was eyeing one of the golf resort pamphlets with what looked like deep concentration, but Eggsy could see he was smiling behind it.

 

“Mr. Hart,” Eggsy said, nodding formally, lips tugging up. “Do you play yourself?”

 

“Here and there,” Harry said. “I see my club isn’t here though. I recommend them highly, if you’re interested.”

 

“ _Very_ interested,” Eggsy said. “Do you have a card for them?”

 

“It’s in my jacket I believe,” said Harry, finally looking up from the pamphlet. “Perhaps you’d care to accompany me?” he asked, brown eyes sparkling at Eggsy.

 

“Perhaps I would,” Eggsy said smiling, and followed Harry casually out of the dining room at a respectable distance. They made their way around the floor of the hotel that was reserved for the gala, winding around several corridors, turning into an empty one, and then Harry was glancing around, and dropping his composed façade he broke into schoolboy grin, opening a door to their left, and was practically shoving Eggsy inside, in what turned out to be a smoking room.

 

“Watch the suit, mate!” Eggsy grinned, stumbling inside the plushly decorated room with leather armchairs, cases of antique snuffboxes, and an honest-to-god tiger rug up on the wall. “It’s ‘bespoke’ don’t you know,” he said, putting on a pseudo-upperclass voice.

 

“And looks every bit as stunning on you as I imagined,” Harry said, smoothing the material down, making Eggsy’s toes tingle. “You gave them my name at the tailor’s, right?” he said, leaning in and nuzzling Eggsy’s jaw, breathing in scent of the boy’s aftershave. “God I’ve wanted to get a proper suit on you ever since I first saw you in those ridiculously baggy clothes.”

 

“And I’ve wanted to get this suit _off_ of you all night,” Eggsy said, pulling Harry closer by the lapels of his smoking jacket, tilting his head up and sighing as Harry worked a series of kisses down his neck. “You can’t be waltzing around in one of these things all night and expect me not to go _mad_ watching you.”

 

“You’re mad enough as it is,” Harry said amused. “So no we can’t have that.” He turned Eggsy’s face to him, their similarly dopey smiles lined up. Harry leaned in and nipped Eggsy’s lower lip, kissed it once, and was then parting Eggsy’s lips with his own to snog him properly. Eggsy moaned as they kissed each other senseless, emotions from the previous night flooding back as they each remembered what the other looked like when completely undone, not just slightly rumpled against the wall of a hotel’s smoking room.

 

“Can’t believe you actually donated to the Medical Association just for sticking condoms in every office,” Eggsy said laughing as their lips broke off at one point. “You’re ridiculous, you know that right?”

 

“Worth every penny,” Harry murmured, finding Eggsy’s lips again, kissing him deeply before breaking off to kiss Eggsy’s throat, just above his green bowtie. “I’m in their very great debt. Best shag of my life.”

 

“God, If it weren’t the final tomorrow I’d be _begging_ you to fuck me on that rug over there,” Eggsy said grinning wolfishly, sliding his hands down Harry’s back and squeezing the man’s outstandingly-tailored arse. “But since we’ve both got a lot of running to do tomorrow, I don’t see anyone getting fucked, do you?”

 

“How wrong you are,” a new voice said, and both men sprang apart in shock, looking around at the door. And there stood Arthur, holding a bottle of brandy, staring at them in genuine surprise, but more than a little malicious satisfaction. “You’re both looking extremely fucked from where I’m standing.”

 

“Now just one moment, Arthur,” said Harry smoothly, adjusting his glasses.

 

“No I don’t think so, Hart. You’ve never had a grasp on propriety have you? And your choice in player just confirms that,” Arthur sneered. “Really Harry, if you wanted to go slumming you didn’t have to dip into a pool of off-limits players. You could have gone to any street in his old neighborhood.”

 

“Arthur, why don’t you just go _fuck_ yourself, you cheating wanker?” Eggsy shot back. But he was going white, not knowing how much trouble he was in.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Unwin,” said Arthur casually. “But what I do know for sure, is that you? Are over.” He turned to Harry. “And so are you. But we can easily promote one of the linesmen tomorrow. No one will notice. Unwin, however? We can’t have this kind of conduct from our players. Won’t the rest of your team be heartbroken to find out you won’t be joining them tomorrow?”

 

“You can’t be fucking serious, you prick,” Eggsy shouted, trying to suppress a panic. Harry held out a hand to hold Eggsy back, and he narrowed his eyes at Arthur.

 

“You’re making a mistake, Arthur.”

 

“No I don’t believe I am,” Arthur responded, setting down the bottle of brandy he’d been carrying, and holding his hands out in a gesture of insincere regret. “The only ones who have made a mistake are the two of you.” He turned to Eggsy, mouth somber but eyes glinting with satisfaction.

 

“Eggsy? You’re done.”

 

***

 

Roxy was finally beginning to reach the end of her hordes of well-wishers, all offering congratulations for the honor she’d received.

 

“Thank you, ma’am. The honor is all mine. Yes, thank you again, your highness.” She smiled graciously, and managed to extract herself from the crush of guests, taking a deep breath, now that she was out of the cloying fog of expensive perfume and cologne. She was honored, she _really_ was, but when it got right down to it, there was only one person she really wanted to see. And he was chatting with one of the officials over against the wall off to the side. He felt her looking and she saw him look up, smile, say something to the official, and then Merlin was making his way over to her, the blue of his suit fairly glowing in the candlelight.

 

“Roxy,” he said warmly, stopping just in front of her. He made a motion as though he was about to clasp her hands between his, and then he stopped awkwardly. Roxy wanted to reach forward and pat his arm but the motion seemed suddenly ridiculous somehow. They swayed awkwardly in front of each other for a moment, and then met the other’s eye, and were suddenly bursting out laughing.

 

“Christ, Morton, get over here,” Merlin said grinning, holding his arms out, and with a laugh Roxy jumped into them and he spun her around, a display that was entirely appropriate for a coach congratulating his award-winning player.

 

“I couldn’t be prouder of you, sweetheart,” he murmured into the side of her hair, and Roxy hugged him tighter about the neck, closing her eyes, and for a brief moment, letting the rest of the room fall away.

 

He set her down and she smoothed out her dress, cheeks pink, hair slightly messier, but grin even wider than it had been when she was accepting her award.

 

“Yeah well,” she said huffing out a laugh. “What can I say. My coach isn’t half-bad either.”

 

Merlin smiled, and this time didn’t hesitate when he reached out to take her hand. His hand covered hers completely and she felt her heart pick up when he brushed his thumb across the back of her knuckles.

 

“Roxy…” he said, and she suddenly felt dizzy.

 

And just then, a woman in a bright, jewel-pink gown came stumbling between them and they stepped back.

 

“Sorry loves,” she laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which were dilated so much it gave the effect of black irises. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”

 

“I don’t think you’re well in general,” Roxy said, frowning as she peered at the beads of sweat popping out over the woman’s face, which was becoming a ghastly white. “Merlin, call 999. I don’t think she’s drunk.”

 

Merlin immediately pulled his sleek phone from his jacket pocket, dialing in a thrice, and holding the phone up to his ear.

 

“I need an ambulance at the Ritz-Carlton in the West End,” he spoke into the phone, snapping his fingers at a couple guests to get them to bring over a chair for the woman, who was leaning on Roxy heavily. “Woman in her forties, ground floor, pink dress. Might be substance related. Yes she’s breathing. She’s conscious.”

 

Roxy kept half her attention on the heavily breathing woman, and half on Merlin’s calm voice, letting his unfailing competence soothe her.

 

“Thank you. You can all go back to the auction,” she said smiling at the guests who had just carried over a chair. “My aunt will be alright. Just a bit too much wine I think.” She laughed deprecatingly. The guests wandered slowly back to the party as Roxy fanned the woman with a spare program lying around.

 

“Wasn’t the wine. Just had one. It was bloody awful,” the woman mumbled, and then Roxy was looking at her, trying to drag back a memory that kept slipping away like a particularly tenacious fish through a net. But when she cinched the memory tighter, she gasped.

 

“Arthur,” she said, and Merlin looked over, brow furrowing.

 

“Arthur what?”

 

“Arthur, he…,” Roxy looked up at Merlin, eyes wide. “Merlin I think Arthur was trying to poison me. But he got her instead.”

 

Merlin reached out clutching her arm so tightly it would have hurt if she hadn’t been in shock. “Are you sure?” he demanded.

 

“Yes,” she said with certainty, the events coming back clearly. “At the cocktail reception he offered me a glass of wine. Was trying to _convince_ me, almost. I put it back on a tray when he turned around, because I wasn’t drinking. But this woman grabbed it right after. Same woman, I’m _positive_ , Merlin.”

 

“That son of a bitch,” Merlin growled, the burr of his accent thickening. Just then the first responders showed up.

 

“Is this the woman?” they asked, not waiting for an answer as they shone a light in her eyes.

 

“Yes,” Merlin said shortly.

 

“Her drink may have had some kind of drug in it,” Roxy added.

 

“Yep, looks like it,” one of the medics said calmly, shining a light into her mouth. “Can’t say for sure until we do a blood test, but looks like some kind of delayed benzodiazepine.”

 

“Which means…” asked Merlin.

 

“She’ll be fine once she works it out of her system,” the medic said, motioning for his partner to lift the woman to her feet. “But she’s in for a woozy day tomorrow. Can I get your numbers? If she remembers her drink being spiked you may be asked to make a statement.”

 

Merlin handed the medics his card, and Roxy thanked them both. And whirling around she slipped her arm through Merlin’s and they made their way briskly through the ballroom, not braking for anyone.

 

“That unimaginable bastard,” Merlin was saying lowly. “I never thought he’d stoop so low.”

 

“Wait you’re saying Eggsy was right? Arthur’s been up to something this whole time?” Roxy asked, walking briskly to keep up with Merlin’s long strides, which was a challenge in her dress.

 

“’Course Eggsy was right about Arthur being a backstabbing, sabotaging tosser, just not about him trying to poison –“ Merlin broke off from where he was glancing into empty cloakrooms and the like, turning to look at her. “Have you seen Eggsy?”

 

“Not since before the silent auction,” she said, as they turned a corner, well past where the gala was being held.

 

“And what about Harry?” Merlin asked unexpectedly.

 

“Harry _Hart_?” asked Roxy incredulously. “No idea, why?”

 

“God I hope I’m wrong,” Merlin murmured and suddenly stopped dead, flinging a hand out to stop her. He tilted his head like a hawk towards an oaken door that was slightly ajar, and had voices floating out through it. He put a finger to his lips, and they both leaned closer. Roxy could make out Arthur’s voice, its snide reediness coming through stronger than volume.

 

“…Really Harry, if you wanted to go slumming you didn’t have to dip into a pool of off-limits players. You could have gone to any street in his old neighborhood.”

 

And then came what was unmistakably Eggsy’s voice, roughly telling Arthur to go fuck himself. Merlin and Roxy looked at each other eyes wide. They leaned closer to the door and heard Arthur informing both Harry and Eggsy they wouldn’t be attending the final tomorrow. Roxy put a hand to her mouth. Merlin gripped her wrist, and steered her towards him so she could see his face.

 

Staring into her eyes he held up two fingers, tugged his left earlobe, and swiped his index finger over his nose. To anyone walking by he’d have looked absolutely ridiculous. But to Roxy he was simply signing to her the gesture for ‘follow my lead’, that their team used on the field to one another. She nodded once.

 

And just as Arthur was saying ‘Eggsy? You’re done’, Merlin was swinging the door open and stepping inside, Roxy right at his heels. Merlin gave Eggsy a quick assessment to make sure he was in one piece, before turning to Arthur with a steely glare. “The only person who’s done here is you, Arthur.”

 

“Merlin?” Arthur said with surprise. “I hate for you to have to find out this way, but it seems as though one of your players has been seducing an official, League-instated referee. I couldn’t say how long this…illicit affair has been going on, but I’m sure you agree for the sake of protecting our image, both parties should resign quietly.”

 

“First of all,” Merlin said, his brogue thick with disdain. “The League didn’t hire Harry. I did.”

 

“You what?” Eggsy and Roxy asked him simultaneously, and he silenced them both with a Look.

 

“And second of all,” he continued. “Neither of them will be resigning tonight. Which is more than I can say for you.”

 

“On what grounds?” sniffed Arthur.

 

“Embezzling,” Harry spoke up.

 

“Fraudulently siphoning off Kingsmen funds to Richmond Valentine and buying stock in Valentine Corporation,” Merlin elaborated.

 

“Using funds gained from said stocks to bet on official matches,” Harry said, counting off against his fingers.

 

“Attempting to rig matches,” Merlin said.

 

“By attempting to bribe officials,” Harry said.

 

“None of whom accepted, by the way,” Merlin added.

 

“Laying groundwork to dismantle the Kingsmen, and buy Valentine’s team,” Harry continued.

 

“And details of said-dismantling include but are not limited to informing opposing teams of Kingsmen strategy,” Merlin finished, eyes narrowing.

 

Eggsy and Roxy had been following the pair’s volley of accusations like a tennis match, and both turned to look at Arthur who’d gone completely red under his sleek white hair.

 

“I’ve never heard such a load of rubbish in my life. You can’t prove any of that,” he hissed.

 

“Oh but I can actually,” Harry said calmly. “My agency has been investigating your activities for well over a year, Arthur, ever since Merlin first approached me with his suspicions. He thought it was just the embezzling at first, which I thought beneath you, but turns out I was wrong. Nothing is beneath you,” he said, voice taking on an edge as he took a step towards Arthur who visibly recoiled.

 

Roxy caught Eggsy’s eye, and he mouthed ‘agency?’ at her in disbelief. She just shrugged, feeling equally out of her depth, but beginning to experience the first stirs of proper anger towards Arthur. They both looked at Arthur who had backed into a table in the room.

 

“I needed more access,” Harry continued. “And that was when Merlin asked me to come on as referee. And that was what helped us uncover the final details of your endless duplicity.”

 

“And we might have let you offer some excuse for your double-dealing,” Merlin said, taking a step towards Arthur as well. “We’d have let you retire early, save face, save your dignity. But,” he said, voice taking on a chilling note. “That was before you tried to POISON ONE OF MY PLAYERS,” he finished with a shout, making everyone in the room jump. Eggsy had only heard Merlin shout like that once in his life, and it was at a former player who had been telling the press personal details about his teammates. Merlin had turned him out of the team with a dressing-down the likes of which Eggsy had never heard before. He'd then fumed for a week straight and they’d all tiptoed around him the next couple of practices on their best behaviour, until he’d finally looked at them, disparagingly but gently saying: “For the love of god, you nitwits, I’m not mad at _you_.” They’d relaxed after that.

 

But now Arthur was facing the full force of Merlin’s ire and trying to keep an unruffled face, but Eggsy saw a few beads of sweat rolling down the man’s neck. Eggsy moved in closer to Arthur, jaw clenching.

 

“Poison? You’re out of your mind, why would I poison a Kingsmen player?” Arthur said, looking anywhere but at Roxy.

 

“What part about ‘rigging matches’ were you blocking out?” Merlin laughed unpleasantly. “If you poison my two strongest players, make it look like they showed up to a game hungover, well then that’s tomorrow’s game in the bag for you, isn’t it? Valentines win, you have an excuse to sell the team and buy whatever new team you please.”

 

“Two players?” Harry asked, looking at Roxy, then at Merlin questioningly.

 

“Did he come in with that?” Merlin asked Harry, gesturing towards a bottle of brandy resting on a table by Arthur’s hand. At Harry’s nod, Merlin looked grim. “He tried to spike Roxy’s drink with something, something that would make her look drunk to anyone watching. I’m sure he came here with the same plan for Eggsy.”

 

“I did no such nonsense,” Arthur huffed.

 

“Then wot’s this vial doing in your pocket then?” Eggsy asked, holding up a suspicious looking, empty vial, which still had a few droplets of clear liquid rolling about inside.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur gaped. “Your player just tried to pickpocket me! What have I been telling you, he’s a no-good -”

 

“Well done, Eggsy,” Merlin said, taking the vial carefully from Eggsy, before turning back to Arthur with a hard glare. “So that’s your plan, is it? You thought you got away with poisoning one of my captains – by the way you didn’t but you did get a random woman instead – and then you come in here to do the same to my other captain? Get him to drink a toast with you or whatever you could manage? Only you find out he’s engaged in a relationship that’s, quite frankly, _none_ of your business, and you decide to get him out of the team through blackmail instead?”

 

Merlin took a deep breath, fingers clenched, fingers of rage tickling him again. But he collected himself and stared Arthur dead in the eye. “Like I said: you’re done, Arthur. I expect your resignation on my desk first thing in the morning.”

 

“I’m your boss,” said Arthur disdainfully. “You can’t ask for my resignation.”

 

“Just you try me,” Merlin said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

 

“I’ll go to the press anyways,” Arthur said haughtily. “Tell them about this nonsense going on under the sports fans’ noses,” he said, gesturing over towards Harry and Eggsy. “You won’t have a shred of credibility left. Because really, what do you think the press will care about more? An old, boring, white man engaging in stock market fraud? Or a gay sex-scandal between a football star and his referee?” he asked smugly.

 

Merlin fell silent, hands almost shaking in rage. Roxy looked at Harry and Eggsy. Both looked equal parts angry and at a loss, knowing that Arthur’s words, despicable as they may have been had some merit. She brushed her hair behind her shoulders, her newly-acquired medal completely visible against the satin of her dress, and she stepped forward.

 

“It’s a sex scandal you want, Arthur?” she asked dangerously. “Is it? Then in that case…I guess you drunkenly tried to grope me at the cocktail reception.”

 

Arthur’s head snapped up towards her. “What the hell are you on about?”

 

“Exactly what I said,” she said simply. “You want to talk about credibility? You say _one_ thing to the press that isn’t a quiet resignation, and I go to them right after and say you’re a delusional drunk who tried to feel me up at the cocktail party, and was angry I turned you down. I mean after all,” she said, laughing with no humor. “We can already prove you tried to spike my drink.”

 

Arthur coloured and Roxy gave him a smile. “Because really, what do you think the press will care about more? An old, boring, white man? Or a young, attractive, publicly-adored girl who’s an example for little girls everywhere, has a good relationship with every single member of the press, and is a new winner of football’s highest honor to boot?” She smirked. “Do you really want to be the one who tried to drug the first girl to make integrated professional football? Do you _really_ want to bring that media storm down around your head?”

 

Merlin, Eggsy, and Harry were all staring at Roxy with their mouths open. Arthur was just looking at her in extreme derision.

 

“Well well well,” he said. “So little miss honorable can fight dirty after all. I must say, I’m surprised at you, Roxy,” he went on. “Willing to use your status as a girl to score points in the press? What a disappointment.”

 

Roxy took a step towards him, eyes flashing dangerously, but smile still firmly fixed on her face.

 

“I’m Roxy Lancelot Morton, UK Kingsmen left forward,” she said, chin high. “Scoring points is what I do for a living.”

 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Bitch.”

 

Before anyone could say anything, Arthur was staggering back, blood gushing from the fist to his nose. And there was Roxy, waving her hand, wincing slightly, but with a victorious glint in her eyes.

 

“Christ Rox,” Eggsy said admiringly as no one did a thing to help Arthur, and Harry poked his head out of the smoking room’s door to look for security. “Come back to my old neighborhood and throw a punch like that and we could have our own gang going in no time.”

 

“Very funny, Unwin,” Roxy said, but she was looking down at Arthur with satisfaction.

 

Harry made his way back into the room, with two security guards who looked too well dressed to be security guards.

 

“Escort this man off the premises, would you?” he said to them. “And take that brandy bottle over there and submit it for testing please.”

 

“Yes boss,” they both said. Which explained the suits.

 

“See that no calls are made to or from his residence,” Harry went on, as the two tailored guards helped Arthur to his feet. “And escort him first thing in the morning to Kingsmen headquarters where he will sign both a resignation letter and fully-binding nondisclosure agreement.”

 

The men nodded, and both were dragging Arthur out of the room, who shot them all one last nasty look.

 

“It’s people like you who are ruining football,” he shouted at Eggsy. “And that goes for the rest of you, taking his side,” he said to the lot of them.

 

“The only person here giving football a bad name is you,” Merlin said viciously. “You’re a bloody disgrace.”

 

Arthur looked like he wanted to reply, but his nose gave another sputter of blood, and he had to turn his head, the guards dragging him out.

 

The door shut behind him, and Eggsy, Roxy, Merlin, and Harry were all looking at each other. And wordlessly, each sunk into an armchair, each with a deep exhalation.

 

Somewhere over from the room’s ornate mantelpiece, a clock was ticking, the only thing breaking the silence in the room for several minutes. Until Roxy looked up at Harry, something just occurring to her.

 

“I don’t think we’ve ever actually properly met,” she said apologetically. “I’m Roxy.”

 

“I know,” Harry said, looking supremely amused. “I’m Harry. Big fan.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

“Is your middle name really Lancelot?”

 

“Okay you’ve gotta back up, mate,” Eggsy said interrupting, turning to look at Harry incredulously. “What bloody agency were you talking about?”

 

“I run a private detection agency,” Harry said, meeting Merlin’s eyes to make sure it was okay. At Merlin’s nod, Harry added thoughtfully: “Although it’s so expanded I guess you call it a security firm. High-profile clients who can’t trust anyone else come to me with their especially sensitive cases, just like Merlin did regarding his concerns about Arthur. And my team and I discreetly look into affairs for them.” Harry smiled at Eggsy’s gobsmacked look. “You didn’t really think I’d been idle for twenty years just because I broke my knee did you? A reclusive reputation makes it easier to maintain discretion.”

 

Eggsy was just shaking his head, looking at Harry, the beginnings of a smile curving his lips. “You really are James Bond, aren’t you?” he asked, and the two exchanged a soft look, some inside joke between the two of them that Merlin and Roxy were lost on. But Merlin watched the two of them, frustration at their irresponsibility warring with sentiment. Sentiment won out.

 

“The aforementioned ‘love of your life’, I take it?” he asked Harry quietly, looking between his oldest friend, and his player whom he’d come to love over the years like an especially aggravating son.

 

“Love of your _wot_ now?” Eggsy squawked, looking between Harry and Merlin, and Merlin just laughed tiredly.

 

“Good luck with that one, Hart,” he said, leaning back in his armchair.

 

“You’re not mad, Merlin?” Eggsy asked, looking at his coach with wide eyes, so sincerely worried about Merlin’s opinion, the way he’d been when he’d shown up on Merlin’s doorstep after having been thrown out of a game, the first thing out of his mouth not an excuse, not an explanation, just an apology.

 

“Speaking as your friend, I’m delighted,” Merlin said honestly. “Surprised…but delighted. But _also_ speaking as your friend... _how is it I’m friends with such bloody idiots_?” he said irately. “Do either of you have a subtle bone in your body?” he asked, and Harry and Eggsy were back to looking sheepish.

 

“Ach, forget it,” Merlin said, leaning back again and dragging a hand across his eyes. “Shoulda known the second Eggsy showed up with a suit from your tailor’s, Harry.”

 

“He does look good, doesn’t he?” Harry agreed.

 

Merlin glared at Harry from between his fingers. “ _Relevance_ , Hart.”

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

“Look, it’s getting late and I wanted these two home an hour ago,” Merlin said, gesturing to Eggsy and Roxy, who’d stayed rather quiet during this whole exchange. “Harry, I take it you can get Eggsy home? And then go straight home yourself?” he added, with a meaningful glare.

 

“I can,” Harry said, getting up, Eggsy mirroring him. “But Alick…” Harry hesitated. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any difficulties with this. I feel responsible for putting any of you in this position in the first place. I think the best thing for me to do in this instance is to resign and allow one of the assistant linesmen to ref tomorrow.”

 

Merlin raised his eyebrows in surprise. Eggsy and Roxy turned to Harry in alarm. As players they’d become accustomed to his presence on the pitch.

 

“Not ref tomorrow?” Eggsy asked shocked.

 

“Do you really think you should pull out now?” Roxy asked worried. Harry may have been a last-minute replacement, and he may have apparently been some kind of secret agent man the entire time. But the fact of the matter was…well the man was still a bloody good referee. And those weren’t always easy to come by.

 

“I agree, do you really think that’s necessary, Harry?” Merlin said frowning. “You’ve never given me any reason to doubt your impartiality the whole time I’ve known you, and for this tournament as well. I mean who else but you would have had the guts to send off this cheeky bugger with a red card when he deserved it?” Merlin said, gesturing to Eggsy.

 

“Oh great, so glad we can all laugh about that now,” Eggsy muttered, cheeks red. And Merlin continued:

 

 “I know you wouldn’t show any bias tomorrow, Harry. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“It’s not,” Harry admitted. “I know I wouldn’t. But I’ve been…selfish. There’s no two ways about it,” he said, cutting off Eggsy who’d opened his mouth presumably in protest. “You’ve all been working so hard,” Harry said, looking apologetically from Merlin to Eggsy to Roxy. “And I compromised that whether I meant to or not.”

 

No one said anything and Harry went on.

 

“We’ve been very lucky that nothing happened for the Kingsmen’s previous victories to be called into question. That was a bullet dodged, no question. But there’s still one game left, and you all deserve to have it be completely aboveboard.” Harry turned slightly, addressing Eggsy now. “I mean to be with you publicly, Eggsy. And when that happens I’ll not risk your result in this next match coming under suspicion.”

 

Eggsy blinked quickly, nodding. “But won’t it be more suspicious if you pull out at the last minute though?” he said, needing to make the argument.

 

“Not at all,” Harry said. “I’ll simply say it’s my knee. The strain place on the injury from reffing proved to be too much. And I’m not physically able to keep up with the younger players anymore,” he added wryly.

 

“It would have context,” Roxy said nodding.

 

“So then who would ref?” Merlin asked, brow furrowed.

 

“Lincoln can,” said Harry, referee to his senior-assistant linesman.

 

“What the ginger bloke who never smiles?” Eggsy asked.

 

“He’s also the one who turned down a hefty bribe from Arthur to rig your match against Middleborough, and immediately told me about it,” Harry gently chastened Eggsy who fell quiet. “He’s a good ref, Merlin, and we can trust him as well.”

 

Merlin nodded slowly. “Well if you think it’s best.”

 

“I do,” said Harry. “And so do you. Besides,” Harry said, cracking a grin. “You guys give a bloody good football game. It’ll be nice to actually just _watch_ it for a change.”

 

“Well so be it,” Merlin said, clapping his hands together once, like they’d just finished a practice. “I’ll leave you to tell Lincoln about his promotion and get Eggsy home?”

 

Harry nodded. “Let’s go, you,” he said, giving Eggsy a nudge. “And Miss Morton? A pleasure. If you ever consider a career in security, be advised that you already throw a formidable right hook.”

 

“Thanks, but I’m a footballer,” she said smiling. “Nice to meet you too. Eggsy, let’s meet at noon tomorrow alright? We can go over pitch conditions.”

 

Eggsy nodded, and the normalcy of their exchange had Merlin standing up instinctively. The past half-hour had been a fiasco, and Roxy’s matter-of-fact words had reminded him of how imperative it was that both his top players were in proper, football-focused order.

 

“Eggsy?” he said, walking over to him. “None of this is your fault, lad. You did well to tell me your suspicions of Arthur. I was already on it, but you were right not to let it go. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the full story, son, but I needed your mind on the game. Do I have that?”

 

“Yeah, ‘course you do,” Eggsy said softly to the carpet, but sounding grateful. He then glanced up at Merlin cheekily. “Them Valentines are going _down_ , tomorrow!”

 

“And there he is,” Merlin said drily. “Get him home, Harry. See you both tomorrow.”

 

Harry and Eggsy exited the room, arms slung about each other, which they were careful to remove once they’d stepped into the hallway. The seamless, guarded motion made something in Merlin’s chest pinch, and he walked back over to the couch where Roxy was sitting, and sank down in the armchair across from her, closing his eyes.

 

“Okay _now_ I need a drink,” he said heavily.

 

Roxy laughed out loud. “Thought you’d never admit it,” she said.

 

Merlin opened his eyes, smiling slightly at the sound of her laughter. It dropped from his face the second he noticed her rubbing her hand, however.

 

“Christ, let me get you some ice,” he said, aghast at himself, and strode over to a globe in the corner that was a case for a variety of aged liquors and spirits. He bypassed the drinks entirely, filling a large tumbler with ice cubes, which he brought back to the couch along with a napkin, sitting next to Roxy this time.

 

“It’s fine,” she said, despite her knuckles matching her scarlet dress exactly.

 

Merlin snorted. “You’ve never admitted to an injury on the field in your life, Morton, why would I believe you now?”

 

“Because you’re smart,” Roxy said, smiling, holding out her hand. Merlin wrapped a few of the ice cubes he’d gotten in the cloth napkin, and took Roxy’s smarting right hand in his broad left one. She winced a bit but said nothing as he gently placed the wrapped ice cubes on top of her knuckles, holding them there with his right, effectively clasping her hand between his own.

 

They sat there like that for a few quiet moments, not really looking at each other, their unconventionally joined hands resting atop Roxy’s lap, while Merlin applied pressure to the makeshift icepack. Finally Merlin looked up.

 

“I’m sorry your night had to be ruined,” he said.

 

“Are you kidding?” Roxy asked. “These galas are the biggest bore every single year. This is the most fun I’ve had at one of these things in my _life_.” She looked at him, lips twitching, and then both were dissolving into laughter like schoolchildren, bodies turned towards each other as they shook with laughter, making the occasional eye-contact, which just set them off even more.

 

Finally they calmed, Merlin having discarded the ice, now just holding Roxy’s hand between his own. Neither moved them.

 

“You don’t seem too mad,” she said finally. “About Eggsy and Harry,” she elaborated at his questioning look, shaking her own head in disbelief at who her friend had apparently fallen head over heels for.

 

“Oh, that,” Merlin shrugged. “Well I’ve always known that Eggsy Unwin and Harry Hart would be the death of me separately. Seems almost poetic they’ve decided to make my life a misery by teaming up,” he snorted. But he then sobered up.

 

“To tell you the truth, I guess the reason I’m not too mad about it is because…” his voice had gotten so soft, Roxy had to lean forward to hear him properly.

 

“Because when it comes to being an official who’s in love with a player,” he began, and then his eyes were snapping up, holding her transfixed with their gaze. He smiled self-deprecatingly and continued: “It’s not like I can claim any moral high ground, is it?”

 

Roxy couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything besides take in every detail of hearing it finally _finally_ out there, as the rest of the room was sucked into the background creating a buzzing in her ears…the soft slate of his eyes boring into hers, the way his rough knuckles rubbed the softer skin of her palm, the way her heart was trying to punch its way out of her chest…

 

“Merlin…” she whispered, vaguely aware of the room’s soft lamplight swimming in the corner of her vision, casting her coach’s face in gold. She leaned towards it unconsciously.

 

“I know,” he said. “I know why we can’t…I guess just seeing those two, seeing how they don’t mind it…”

 

“Well,” she said more hoarsely than she intended, and cleared her throat. “They’re not us, are they?”

 

“No. No they’re not,” Merlin smiled, reaching out to brush his thumb along her jaw. “But then again there’s no one quite like you, is there?” he said quietly. Roxy’s lips parted of their own accord. Their eyes were still locked, faces drawing closer, almost through some sheer force tied between them. And Roxy had a moment to think, _this is it, this is when I kiss Merlin_ , before her eyes fluttered shut and her lips were tickled by a puff of breath…

 

…and then Merlin’s lips were there, soft but sure, and he kissed her gently, his lips the barest press against her own, one hand still clutching hers, the other one softly cupping her jaw. And Roxy, whose heart was stunned, secure, and swiftly beating in staccato, gingerly parted her lips under his, and softly, sparingly, kissed him back.

 

After a moment that seemed both brief and endless, he was pulling back ever so slightly, Roxy’s mouth opening with a gasp she couldn’t help. She leaned her forehead against Merlin’s, their faces still pressed together.

 

“God,” she breathed, doing her best to not shake her way out of her skin, and failing when Merlin pressed another chaste kiss to her cheek.

 

“I know,” he murmured there against her skin, and her arms were going around him, sliding over his suit, going around to his back, holding him close, reveling in the fact that even if every other touch they’d ever shared had to be cut short, brief friendly pats on the back, the occasional squeeze of hands, hugs surrounded by others that had to come to an end…once, just this once, she could allow herself to hold him and not let go.

 

“Oh Merlin,” she said again, sighing as she squeezed him tighter, face going to his shoulder as she breathed him in. She wanted to kiss him again, she wanted to kiss him again _badly_ , but she knew if she did she might not ever stop.

 

They sat there, folded together, holding each other close for a few more minutes. And then by unspoken signal they were pulling back slightly to look at each other.

 

“I wish…” Roxy said softly, and then stopped.

 

“What?” he prompted her, running a broad hand along her arm that was still wrapped around him.

 

She shook her head and smiled. “I was going to say I wish you weren’t my coach. But that’s not true is it? If you weren’t my coach I might…I might never have met you.”

 

"Roxy." Merlin smiled. “I understand,” he said simply, and she knew he did, because that’s what they were to each other: cut from the same cloth, through and through.

 

Merlin untangled her arms from her, giving no sign that it hurt him to do so. But he picked up her hands between his own one more time, and was lifting them to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on each palm.

 

“You’ve got a world to go out and conquer, Roxy,” he said. “And I’ll still be here when you’re done.”

 

He gave her hands a squeeze, and Roxy looked at him gratefully, thankful he understood, thankful he was there, thankful that despite a million and one things in the way for _now_ , it wouldn’t be for _ever_ , and he was still hers _._

 

“A whole world to conquer, huh?” she said thoughtfully, heart beginning to pick up, singing because of both the man across from her, and the thought of the rest of the world stretched out in front of her that she had yet to reach out and take. Her mouth curved up. “I’ll be needing a good coach for that.”

 

“You’ve got one,” Merlin said, his grey eyes sparkling and looking as alive as she felt. “For as long as you need me.”

 

“Well let’s go take on the world then,” Roxy said, getting to her feet and pulling him up with her. She looked up at him, raising their clasped hands so she could press one last kiss to his knuckles. “Shall we?”

 

“I'm in,” Merlin said. “But how about starting with tomorrow’s Final?”

 

“A Final?” Roxy said smiling. “My dear Merlin, I’ve promised you the world, I think I can manage a final.”

 

“Well then lay on, Lancelot,” Merlin said, smiling back, extending his arm which she took. And together they left the room and its shadows, walking arm-in-arm out into the hallway whose lights were almost a blaze. After all, they had a world to take on and a game to win, and not in that order.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Roxy's dress: http://kimseorim.tumblr.com/post/111394800874/under-cover-gown-by-zac-posen)


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 **Harrison Edwards, Football Channel 4 sports radio commentator:** “Welcome back to Football on Channel Four! You’re listening to our pregame final’s edition broadcast. Well here we are, Martin, and a beautiful Sunday it is too for the final here at the stadium. It’s almost two o’clock, not long to go now, and the energy in the stadium is absolutely dynamic!”

 

 **Martin Douglas, Football Channel 4 sports radio commentator:** “Right you are, Harrison, people aren’t missing this game for the world. Have you ever seen a final this packed?

 

 **Harrison:** “The final for the UK Cup is always a hot ticket, Martin, make no mistake, but I still don’t think I’ve see the fans so keen to get in. We have reports of people lining up as early as five in the morning!”

 

 **Martin:** “Amazing, Harrison, amazing, what do you think it is that has people so excited about _this_ final?”

 

 **Harrison:** “I think that has everything to do with the two finalist teams in question, doesn’t it? At 2 P.M. it’s going to be the UK Kingsmen and the Victoria Valentines going head-to-head, and if that’s not football star power then I don’t know what is. These are two teams that have been redefining football in their own ways, and this match is significant. You don’t have to be a fan of football to be aware of what a historic game this is going to be. The fact that they’re rivals can only add tension.”

 

 **Martin:** “Right you are, right you are. Let’s talk about the Valentines for a minute…coached by the world-famous entrepreneur Richmond Valentine. And the fact that he’s not a football player himself, but simply an enthusiast who bought a team has gotten a lot of people talking.”

 

 **Harrison:** “I think these people need to remember that even though this team is a side-project for him, he’s still coached them all the way to the finals and that’s not to be overlooked. Whether their success is a result of his coaching or the team’s skill, they’re still here.”

 

 **Martin:** “And what skill it is, Harrison, what skill indeed. Valentine is all about computer-generated strategies which the more old-school have questioned, but the fact is, however they do it, those Valentines are a well-oiled, fearsome machine. And captained by no less than –“

 

 **Harrison:** “- the most fearsome of them all, Martin! The one and only Giselle Norman, aka ‘The Gazelle’, god I love that moniker, don’t you, Martin?”

 

 **Martin:** “A fitting and unique title for the most unique player in Premier League history I reckon. The second woman to make it into integrated professional football, and the _first_ disabled player to be allowed to play with prosthetics as well. No small wonder people from all over will be tuning in for this game, football fan or not. The Valentines are an appealing draw, make no mistake about it, Harrison. The black sheep of the tournament in many ways, and it would be an exciting day indeed if they were to walk out of this stadium with a victory today.”

 

 **Harrison:** “And do you think that’s likely, Martin? Remember they’re going up against the UK Kingsmen, one of the most established teams in the league.”

 

 **Martin:** “I think that’s _why_ it would be exciting if the Valentines won! The Kingsmen are crowd favourites, no question, but that might be making people keen to see some new blood!”

 

 **Harrison:** “It’s a good point, Martin, but we can’t forget that this might be the Kingsmen’s best season _yet_. They’re in top form and fresher than ever. Ever since Merlin hired Premier League newcomer Eggsy Unwin four years ago, they’ve only been on the up and up.”

 

 **Martin:** “Very true, Harrison, you know I think people tend to forget just how much new _energy_ Unwin injected into that team when he joined. He became such a poster boy for the media, that we tended to talk about everything _but_ his playing and the new life he brought to the team.”

 

 **Harrison:** “Right you are. Renowned coach Merlin Graham had been doing a solid job as always, but adding Unwin gave them some extra kick, if you’ll excuse the pun. And when Roxy Morton was the first woman to barrel her way into integrated football, well…I’d say things shifted into top gear for the Kingsmen right then and there. That’s a powerhouse duo right there, Martin. And with a team like theirs behind them, I’d say any victory of theirs today would be solidly earned.”

 

 **Martin:** “That’s a good point you make about Roxy Morton, coming to today’s game fresh off the honor of receiving the League’s Pink Shield, one of the most prestigious football medals there is. And just last night! Were you at the gala, Harrison?”

 

 **Harrison:** “I was, Martin, and what a night. Morton gave a great speech – as always – and the Kingsmen must have been counting their lucky stars when she joined. Because between her, Charlie Hesketh in the center, and Eggsy Unwin on the right, that is a _formidable_ trio, Martin.”

 

 **Martin:** “That’s right, Harrison. Hesketh is a very solid player and cuts quite the intimidating figure when he’s coming straight down the center like that. He’s great glue for Morton and Unwin. But it’s still those two who are the true team superstars when all is said and done. In your own opinion, Harrison, which do you think is _better_?”

 

 **Harrison:** “Well depends what you’re asking, Martin. Who do I think is the best _overall_? Gotta go with Morton. On the field she’s indomitable wherever she stands, and she got that medal last night for a reason. But when it comes to Unwin’s…I don’t know how to put it, Martin.”

 

 **Martin:** “I know what you’re saying, Harrison. Flair?”

 

 **Harrison:** “Something like that. Roxy’s the better player, very highly trained, but Unwin’s got that…that _spark_. When you watch him play it’s like watching someone who was born to play football.

 

 **Martin:** Harrison, are you gushing?

 

 **Harrison:** Well I mean it! He’s got that gut instinct, like he’s feeling the whole game in every limb. I mean I don’t think I’ve seen footwork like that since the days of…”

 

 **Martin:** “…Harry Hart?”

 

 **Harrison:** “You read my mind. What a treat it was for so many of us older football fans to see him back on the field again, eh? Even if it was just for reffing. Shame his injury flared up again.”

 

 **Martin:** “Ah yes, I’ve got the statement right here, released early this morning: ‘In light of the strain placed on former injuries, Mr. Harry Hart will be unable to officiate to the best of his best abilities in the final game of the UK Cup. He turns over his duties with all confidence to senior-assistant linesman Lincoln Andrews. He congratulates both competing teams on a fine season and thanks the League for their understanding.’ Pretty bare bones, but then again Hart was never anything else in the press, was he?”

 

 **Harrison:** “No indeed, Martin. But be honest now…real talk…now that he’s not reffing the final, do you think this means he’ll be rooting for his old team?”

 

 **Martin:** “Ha! How could he not, Harrison? To be fair he’s shown remarkable impartiality all tournament, most notably when he red-carded Unwin, one of his former team’s strongest players, putting them at a distinct disadvantage. But I’m sure he’s on their side for the final, and who would hold it against him? If that were my old team out there I’d be waving their flag in the stands, whether I’d reffed them or not.”

 

 **Harrison:** “Well one thing’s for sure, folks, and that’s no matter who you’re rooting for today, this is going to be one hell of a game. And would you look at that…we’re only ten seconds out from the UK Cup finals, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Harrison Edwards…”

 

 **Martin:** “…and I’m Martin Douglas. And you’ve been listening to Football on Channel Four.”

 

***

 

The stadium was a flurry of fans and banners as the Kingsmen walked purposefully onto the pitch, hearts hammering, squinting a bit at the sudden burst of sun as they came out of the stadium’s holding area.

 

Eggsy and Roxy were at the front of the team and the second their figures appeared on the turf the stadium erupted into cheers. Their breath caught and they looked at each other in awe, the volume of the stadium ringing through their bones, and they exchanged slightly giddy smiles. They’d played in tournaments separately but this was the first time they’d ever made it to a finals game together on the same team, and fuck if this wasn’t one of the most exciting moments of Eggsy’s life.

 

Unable to keep his steady walk, Eggsy bounced on the balls of his feet before tugging Roxy’s arm, mouthing ‘Let’s go!’ at her, eyes bright, and took off to the middle of the field. She laughed and raced after him and the rest of the team followed suit, all running out onto the field, whooping and waving their arms at the crowd, Merlin bringing up the rear in a grey suit he’d donned for the occasion.

 

The Valentines were already standing in a row in the middle of the field and the Kingsmen made a line across from them, arms slung about each other, fairly thrumming from the adrenaline. Eggsy had played games of this scale before but _still_ , the mixture of nerves and sheer excitement was coursing through his veins as he tilted his head up under the summer sun, sending an equally blinding smile towards the stands.

 

He looked back down to see he was right across from Gazelle, who was standing in a line with her own players. She grinned at him showing all her teeth, eyes narrowed in focus. Eggsy nudged Roxy and the two broke ranks to briefly shake hands with the Valentine captains.

 

Gazelle looked about ready to devour Eggsy, but Eggsy just shot her a cheery wink and looked back down the line to the rest of his team, a sudden rush of emotion surging through him. Love was the only word for it. They’d been through thick and thin together, and they all mattered more to him than one psycho opposing player ever could. Like hell he was going to let her get to him today.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise,” came the announcer’s voice, booming over the loudspeaker stadium. Eggsy drew in a breath and stood straight, skin humming all over as the first brass notes of God Save the Queen came trumpeting proudly out of the speakers.

 

As it played Eggsy moved his mouth along absently to the words, scanning the crowd as best he could, unable to keep the smile off his face as he spotted his mother and Daisy in the crowd on the Kingsmen’s side of the field, his mum holding up Daisy’s hand to send a tiny wave at Eggsy. His mum normally watched at home on account of her knee, and she thought the crowds too crushing for Daisy as well, so Eggsy would’ve understood if they hadn’t come. But it was the final, and they were _here_ , and, well, Eggsy was dead chuffed about it. He sent them a grin, hoping they knew it was for them.

 

And that smile increased tenfold when his eyes jumped past them several rows and saw Harry, standing upright in the crowd, unmistakable in a light grey suit, hair and glasses dark against it. He was mouthing along the words to God Save the Queen as well. He turned in Eggsy’s direction, and Eggsy lifted his hand from where it was resting on Roxy’s shoulder to give the slightest of waves. And Eggsy might have been imagining it but he was _sure_ he could see Harry’s mouth slanted up to one side as he sung, as though Harry were holding back a smile.

 

 _Soon_ , Eggsy told himself. Soon. One more game and then this man, this ridiculous amazing man who’d kicked his way into Eggsy’s life would be his, _Eggsy’s_ , for as long as Eggsy wanted him. Sometimes Eggsy felt like Harry had come out of nowhere. But the way the man had figured on the periphery of his life up until now made that profoundly untrue. So many threads from so far back had wrapped themselves loosely around the two of them, creating a wide looping net with a million invisible strings that neither had been aware of until the right moment when all the strings _pulled_ , and the two were cinched close, bound together forever more, no way to cut themselves loose, even if they wanted to.

 

Eggsy’s heart beat faster at the idea of years, a _lifetime_ ahead with Harry Hart. But for now, in that very moment, the _only_ thing more exiting was this game, and Eggsy was chomping at the bit to get playing.

 

The music drew to a close and the teams let out a cheer with the roar of the stadium behind them, carrying them up up and up, like the crest of a wave. And with a leap and many back slaps, the single-lined teams broke apart into individual players who scampered off, spilled out to their positions on the field, dotting it with blue and red.

 

Eggsy stepped up to his mark on the field, cleats crunching into the turf, which crinkled under the press of his foot. He focused on the ground, getting into what was almost a runner’s pose as he waited for the whistle blast from Lincoln, their new ref whose red hair was just out of Eggsy’s line of sight.

 

 _Come on_ , he thought silently at anything, and everything…the whistle, the ball, the other team, his own team…whatever it was he was ready.

 

The stadium seemed to fall silent as Charlie took the ball to the center, rolling it once under his cleat, taking a deep, steadying breath. To his left Roxy bent her legs getting ready to bolt. To his right, Eggsy sunk deeper into a crouch, hands brushing the ground that would soon be thundering from the tremors of pounding cleats.

 

 _Come on_ , he thought again, feet tingling.

 

A slight breeze whipped over him and he saw the ref raise the whistle to his lips.

 

His toes curled inside his cleats.

 

The whistle blasted and they were _off_.

 

***

 

Harry leaned forward in his seat as the Valentines approached the Kingsmen’s end of the field. The crowd around him were all hollering, waving, biting their nails, or doing all three as the teams continued their back-and-forth in what was one of the most tense games Harry had ever watched. He was sitting in a section reserved for various official personnel who were all sweating through their suits, shouting just as hard as the fans in the cheap seats.

 

The score was 1-1 and both teams were fighting tooth and nail for possession of the ball. In all the games he’d reffed in this whole stint as uncover official, Harry had never seen the Valentines play so ruthlessly. But then again he’d never seen the Kingsmen move so cohesively together either. They were like one player with eleven heads, weaving about the field and swamping the Valentines every time they went for the ball. The Valentines might have been in full-on attack mode, but the Kingsmen were making them work for it. Harry knew his team had been above average back when he’d played, but watching them now he was forced to admit that these new Kingsmen…well they were something else. He knew it would be inappropriate to outwardly root for either team beyond polite clapping, given the impartial stance he’d had to adopt in all the other games in the tournament. But sitting here on the plastic stadium chair that was digging into his thighs, people shouting and cheering around him, watching the teams run to-and-fro under the hot sun…of _course_ he was rooting for his old team. Partly from a natural nostalgia, but also due to one player in particular.

 

Harry felt his heart quicken as Eggsy dashed past their section with the ball, every line of his body a seamless symphony of tightened muscles, liquid limbs, and full-on focus. Eggsy darted around a Valentine defender with a nimble move that had Harry breaking out into a smile, both as someone who was proud of the person he was madly in love with, and as a former footballer who simply appreciated the move. That appreciation increased tenfold as he saw Eggsy avoid some defenders by booting the ball across the field to Roxy who smacked it straight to Charlie, who sent it flying right back to Eggsy with a header. Bloody hell but they were good.

 

Harry leaned forward even further as he saw Gazelle run in a wide circling motion, bearing down on Eggsy. He didn’t know if Eggsy could see her and he had to resist the urge to cry out ‘On your right!’, which would have been all kinds of unseemly. Instead he watched, fingernails digging crescents into his palm as Gazelle slid for the ball, almost like a baseball player stealing home base, prosthetics sweeping under Eggsy’s legs and knocking him off his feet in a way that Harry _knew_ was intentional.

 

Eggsy’s figure hit the ground hard and the crowd leapt to their feet, booing at the foul, but also watching the pitch eagerly, practically hoping for another fight to break out between the two players. Harry stood up too, remembering the very real panic that had shot through Eggsy the last time Gazelle had sent him flying. He bit his lip.

 

But Eggsy just rolled to his feet, and while Harry thought he saw Eggsy’s fist clench, he merely reached out to help Gazelle to her feet. She swatted the hand away, scowling perhaps at Eggsy’s not having taken the bait. Eggsy said something quietly to Lincoln, Harry’s replacement ref who had just run over, his shock of red hair visible from all seats in the stadium. Lincoln nodded and blew his whistle, making a motion for the Kingsmen to take an indirect free kick from where the play had stopped on the field.

 

Harry sat back a little and relaxed as they resumed play. God but that Valentine forward was one nasty piece of work. And knowing what he knew about their attempts to rig matches with Arthur, he was silently fuming at their presence in the final at all. After watching all the teams he’d personally have preferred to see Middleborough here playing the Kingsmen, since they’d have given them a brilliant _and_ fair game. But here the Valentines were, and Harry had to deal with it. At least they would have to play _this_ game fairly. Harry could only hope they didn’t give the Kingsmen any more dirty tricks before someone got hurt for real.

 

 

***

 

Eggsy dodged a Valentine midfielder as they came careening down the field towards him. He kicked the ball a little further up to Charlie, who passed it right along to Roxy who was looping behind him, barely having to look for her. She caught the ball easily on her thighs and knocked it back to the Kingsmen’s own midfielders who were close behind, leaving herself open for any more passes.

 

Eggsy was busy tracking the ball as the midfielders sent it flying between them in the middle of the pitch, but felt a brief admiring glow at the way Roxy had been playing this game so far. She’d scored their first goal spectacularly within the first two minutes of play. And even though the Valentines had been quick to tie things up, he couldn’t see an ounce of her usual nerves, the way she was firing on all cylinders: composed, focused, and leading the fray. It was like she was on a personal mission to take over the world, and had chosen to start with the Valentines.

 

Eggsy started to run backwards as he saw Hugo, Digby and Andrew make some headway with the ball, bringing it back up the field, passing between them. Hugo knocked it up to Eggsy, who took it careening to the Valentines’ end, dribbling madly.

 

There was Gazelle, blocking him as reliably as ever, but Eggsy, unfazed, called out: “Charlie!”

 

Charlie whipped his head around on Eggsy’s left, and Eggsy kicked the ball to him, dodging around Gazelle, and Charlie brought it into the area around the Valentines’ goal.

 

The Kingsmen forwards and Valentine defenders all converged on the ball, and began the mad endzone scramble that happens whenever the ball gets too close to a net for comfort. Every time the Valentines managed to send the ball sailing out, the Kingsmen just slammed it right back in. The ball bounced between the players like they were all gears on a pinball machine.

 

Roxy caught the ball on her end and passed it to Charlie, and the Valentine goalie bent his knees, preparing to spring. But Charlie just bounced it over to Eggsy calling “Unwin! Go high!” as he ran into position.

 

Eggsy grinned and kicked the ball up once on the side of his cleat to give it some velocity and then was booting it _high_ , the ball sailing up and airborne in a tall arc. Gazelle left Eggsy’s side to take position under it, and all the players craned their necks to see where the ball would come down. But Charlie knew exactly where it would fall, having practiced this play with Eggsy many times. He readied himself under the ball’s arc, and just as it was plummeting back to earth he _leapt_ up, jerking his head forward, slamming the ball towards the net with his forehead.

 

“Charlie look out!” Eggsy yelled, having seen Gazelle leap up to block the ball with a long leg. But she missed and her prosthetic cleat went sailing _straight_ into the side of Charlie’s head. Charlie was whipped around and crumpled to the turf, and Eggsy barely noticed that the ball had sailed straight into the net, staring in horror at Charlie’s motionless form.

 

The whistle blew long and shrill, and Eggsy and Roxy bolted to Charlie’s side. Eggsy brushed past Gazelle who was staring down at Charlie, her face white.

 

“I didn’t mean it I swear, I was aiming for the ball,” she said, and this was the first time Eggsy had seen her anything but completely cool and composed, the most tautly held player in the room.

 

“Outta the way,” he said brusquely and she stepped back shakily as he and Roxy rolled Charlie over. Charlie moaned slightly as they did, coming to again, and Eggsy let out a breath.

 

“Thank god your skull is so bloody thick, Hesketh,” he said, relief heavy in his voice. “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” He raised his middle finger at Charlie, where the cameras couldn’t see it.

 

“Sod off, Unwin,” Charlie mumbled, but at least he smiled slightly. It quickly faded though as he winced in pain. “Fuck me, that felt like getting hit by a train.”

 

“Least you scored,” Roxy said, grinning at Charlie to mask the way she was running the pads of her fingers over his head, checking for any blood. And she was right. Eggsy glanced up at the scoreboard that was blinking ‘2-1’ in big neon letters.

 

Just then the field medics had just arrived with a stretcher and began shining lights busily in Charlie’s face. Eggsy stepped back to give them some room, and Roxy came over the stand beside him.

 

“Was it her?” she asked in a low voice.

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, casting his eyes over to Gazelle who was in the middle of arguing with Lincoln, her eyes desperate. “I don’t think she meant it though.”

 

“Like hell she didn’t,” Roxy muttered, just as Merlin was running over.

 

“Knees,” the coach barked out at the players who were beginning to crowd the area too much. Kingsmen and Valentines alike all sunk to one knee as was customary for a field injury, quaking a little at his tone.

 

They watched as their coach bent over beside their center forward.

 

“Can you stand up, lad?” they heard Merlin ask quietly, his Scottish accent practically a lilt.

 

“Lemme try,” Charlie mumbled, getting to his feet as Merlin held his elbow. But the second he straightened up his eyes rolled back and he sunk right back to his knees, breathing heavily and going a little green.

 

“Concussion, Mr. Graham,” one of the medics said to their coach.

 

Eggsy and Roxy looked at each other in alarm, as did their other teammates. _Shit_. While not as serious in the long run as an injury to the leg, it meant Charlie was definitely out of commission for this game at least. Shitting _hell_.

 

Eggsy saw a couple of the Valentines biting the insides of their cheeks as they knelt, obviously trying not to look openly gleeful about one of their strongest opponents out of the running. That is, all of them but Gazelle, who kept sending panicked looks over to Lincoln. The ref was holding a yellow card, while all the other linesmen grouped around him, talking in raised voices, gesturing between Gazelle and Charlie. Eggsy could make out the words ‘red card’, ‘prosthetics’, and ‘risk’. He couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for her. She might have been psycho bitch from hell, but this was the kind of thing that could have happened between any two players.

 

The medics were loading Charlie onto the stretcher and Merlin gently stroked his player’s forehead, a crease of worry on his own. They carried Charlie off the field and the whole stadium, Kingsmen and Valentines included, clapped in support.

 

The refs were still arguing heatedly and Merlin cut a swath through the players as he strode over to them. Eggsy spotted Valentine walking over to them as well from the sides, going to stand next to Merlin. They couldn’t have looked more different, Merlin in his crisp suit, Valentine in his cream windbreaker, pink polo shirt, and matching baseball cap. But their expressions of concern were the same as they watched the refs bicker.

 

“It’s a yellow card offense, not a red card one,” Lincoln their main ref was saying stoically, his mouth a thin line as he looked at the other linesmen.

 

“But those prosthetics are a liability that should never have been allowed on,” one of them hissed.

 

“But they were allowed on, and so we’re dealing with this as a normal injury, prosthetic-induced or not,” Lincoln said in a bored voice, but his eyes were snapping. “We’ve all of us… _almost_ all of us worked hard to allow prosthetics in professional sports. If we kick her out now for a yellow card offense, we risk that whole bill getting reappealed.”

 

“Would that be such a bad thing? If we give her a red card now, she goes off and we’re spared any further nonsense like this from her or anyone else,” said one.

 

“Woah now,” Valentine said loudly. “Send her _off_? She’s my best player.”

 

“And she’s the reason one of Mr. Graham’s best players is out with a concussion,” the linesman insisted. “If she’s gonna be fouling players left, right, and center, she can’t be doing it with those bloody things, it’s a risk,” he said gesturing to Gazelle’s shining legs angrily.

 

Eggsy saw Gazelle draw them underneath her in embarrassment, and only now did Eggsy feel a hint of temper flare up. But this time it wasn’t at Gazelle.

 

“Oi,” he called over at them. “It were an accident, alright? She didn’t mean it.”

 

The refs and coaches swung around to Eggsy in surprise.

 

“She tripped you up earlier as well, Mr. Unwin,” said the most vocal linesman. “Intentionally, I’d wager.”

 

“Yeah well she didn’t mean to nail Charlie,” Eggsy said standing up and walking over, not realizing he’d placed himself directly between the linesmen and Gazelle. “This is the big leagues, mate. Accidents are gonna happen whether the players have prosthetics or not.” He glared at them all defiantly. They were all looking at him incredulously, except for Merlin who was appraising Eggsy with something like pride. Feeling emboldened, Eggsy continued:

 

“And with a player as strong as that, Charlie would’ve been knocked out whether her cleat was made out of metal, leather, or the stick you keep up your –“

 

“I agree with Eggsy,” Merlin said quickly, dropping a hand to Eggsy’s shoulder, and pinching him _hard_ , where the refs couldn’t see. “Accidents happen, and there are only a couple minutes left of the first half. I think we should get back to the game.”

 

The linesmen looked at each other uncertainly.

 

“Gentlemen?” Lincoln asked them neutrally.

 

“Alright,” one linesman said grudgingly, and they slowly made their way back to the sides. Eggsy turned around to see his team and the Valentines all still on their knees, staring at him except for Gazelle, who was staring at the ground, face red.

 

“We gonna play some football or what?” he mumbled awkwardly at their stares. The Valentines were staring in open disbelief. The Kingsmen who knew him better looked slightly grudging but accepting and less surprised at their captain’s intervention. Roxy was shaking her head at him, but smiling slightly.

 

The players all got to their feet and Eggsy felt Merlin’s hand on his shoulder squeeze.

 

“Lingering guilty conscience?” Merlin’s brogue rumbled in Eggsy’s ear.

 

“Nah, guv,” Eggsy said, twisting his neck around to look at his coach a little sheepishly. “Just the usual conscience.”

 

“Killing me, Unwin,” Merlin said, but his eyes were twinkling fondly. He clapped Eggsy’s shoulder once and went over to Lincoln. “Requesting a sub for Charlie.”

 

“Granted,” said Lincoln. And Merlin made a circling motion with his hands at the bench, and Rufus came running onto the field, looking more than a little green around the gills at his sudden promotion to center bloody forward, in the middle of the final game of the UK Cup.

 

“Just hold it steady for two more minutes, and then it’s halftime alright?” Roxy said to him as she walked over. “Eggsy and I will catch you up to speed then.”

 

“Any chance Charlie will have made a recovery by the second half?” Rufus joked feebly.

 

“You got this, mate,” Eggsy said giving him a fist bump. “Just follow our lead and you’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah alright,” Rufus said, steeling himself, and awkwardly taking position between Roxy and Eggsy, where Charlie would normally have stood.

 

“Focus up, you lot,” Merlin said to his team in a thick burr, before striding off.

 

“Game _on_ , Valentines,” Valentine cheered following Merlin off, patting Gazelle’s shoulder, who was still kneeling hunched on the field. She slowly got to her feet, and went back into position.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled at Eggsy as she brushed past him.

 

“Yeah well it weren’t your fault, was it? This time, that is,” he muttered darkly in afterthought.

 

“No I mean…you didn’t have to do that,” she repeated. “They were gonna send me off and you guys would probably have won if you hadn’t gone all ‘gentlemanly’. Why’d you vouch for me?”

 

Why indeed. Eggsy briefly cursed his own inner resolve, but he just looked at Gazelle and shrugged, giving her a bright smile.

 

“Who else is gonna give me a proper run for my money out there?” he asked. “This’ll just make it way more enjoyable when we actually win.”

 

“In your dreams,” she scoffed at him, but it was the first time he’d seen her posture ease all game.

 

Once all the players were back in position, Lincoln lifted his whistle, gave it a mighty blow, and they were back in business.

 

***

 

Harry stood up to stretch his legs, doing his best to not be buffeted by the halftime crush, full of people all hoping to run out to the bathroom in the fifteen minutes they had to do so between halves. The last couple minutes of the first half had finished without event, and Harry took his phone out. Unlocking the screen he felt a glow of satisfaction as he checked his latest message. It was a photo from one of his employees, showing a picture of Arthur’s signature on a resignation letter admitting to unethical behavior, and also on a nondisclosure agreement, forbidding him from ever revealing personal information about any league member, current or former. Harry could have had Arthur arrested, but given the compromising position in which he’d found Harry and Eggsy the previous night, a stalemate looked like the best bet. As long as he and Eggsy waited a decent interval before revealing their relationship, it looked liked they were in the clear by the skin of their bloody teeth.

 

He was about to slide his phone into his jacket pocket when it buzzed again. His smile widened. It was from Eggsy, who must have just gotten back to the locker room:

 

<Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks?>

 

Harry smiled and typed back:

 

<Root, root, root for the home team>

 

Harry paused and sent one more.

 

<xo>

 

He smiled as he got an identical message back from Eggsy, and pocketed his phone, scolding himself for the way the X and O from Eggsy had gotten his heart going like he was a bloody schoolboy.

 

But then again every last thing that young man had done since appearing on the field had had a similar effect on him. Every dip and dart of his feet had kept Harry spellbound, as had the brightness in the lad’s eyes as he’d stormed from one end of the pitch to the other like a hurricane.

 

And when he’d gotten up and stood his ground against those insufferable linesmen, the way Harry had wanted to many times in his brief stint as ref…Harry couldn’t hear what he’d been saying but he’d seen Eggsy’s certain posture, the determined set of his jaw, as resolute and certain in the right course of action as the first time Harry had seen him conflicted…well Harry just about fell in love with him all over again.

 

He settled back in his chair, surveying the crowds of people. Most of them seemed to have come with someone. Groups of friends, business partners, kids with their families…and then there was Harry, without a shred of company. This wasn’t unusual for him at a public event. What was unusual was that this was the first time it didn’t have him feeling like an extra accessory that just didn’t quite match the rest of the outfit. Because for the first time there was someone out there who matched him in every possible way, who would be with him the next time, and the time after that, and the time after that.

 

He almost took out his phone again to type something like ‘good luck’ to Eggsy. But he didn’t want to distract him at this point, certain Eggsy’s phone wouldn’t be on him anymore. He’d probably have his head together with the rest of the team and Merlin, going over what strategies to use in the second half. The Kingsmen were in the lead but they’d just suffered a huge disadvantage. It was hard to say how they’d do without their normal center forward, given the shorthand he seemed to have with Eggsy and the Morton girl. And Harry should really start thinking of her as Roxy now, after last night. It had been nice to actually _meet_ the player he’d spent most of this tournament admiring from afar.

 

The crowds started pouring back in for the second half. Harry pictured Eggsy in the locker room with the rest of the team, getting back into game mode, leading them in a cheer as they prepared to storm out onto the pitch once again.

 

And even though he hadn’t texted it, Harry still found himself directing his thoughts as hard as he could towards Eggsy, whatever he was doing right now:

 

_Best of luck, dear boy._

***

 

 

The Kingsmen went back out onto the pitch, their core eleven players taking position on the opposite side of the field they’d played on before. Changing sides after halftime allowed everyone a fair chance at playing in the same conditions, whether one side of the pitch was more beaten up or sloped than the other, or if one side got more sun in your eyes or not.

 

Eggsy squinted slightly as he took his position. This side was definitely sunnier than the last, and he wished they’d started playing on this side so they wouldn’t have to finish on it. But nothing for it but to play and hope he didn’t get too much glare at crucial moments.

 

“Alright, Rufus?” he asked their new center.

 

“I’d better be,” Rufus said ruefully and Eggsy snorted.

 

Charlie was watching beside Merlin over on the sidelines, holding an icepack up to his head. At halftime the medics had done their best to get him to lie down in a dark, cool room, but he’d just stared at them as though they were batshit mental for suggesting he not watch his team play out the rest of the final.

 

The Valentines were starting with the ball this time, and their center rolled it into position. One of the midfielders behind him was looking more focused than the others, and Eggsy took a guess that their center would pass backwards first.

 

“Rox, Rufus,” he called down the line. He made a triangle with his hands, and Roxy nodded. They’d dart forward diagonally like the sides of a triangle, meeting in a point. Charl – fuck, Rufus would sweep from side to side in the back, acting as the base of the triangle.

 

“Got that, mate?” he asked Rufus, who nodded as well. “Alright, focus in.”

 

They got ready to bolt and the whistle blew for the second half.

 

Eggsy and Roxy were already on the move when the Valentine center passed back like Eggsy had suspected. They were closing in on the midfielder right as he passed the ball forward to his players who’d run up to the Kingsmen’s side.

 

Rufus had automatically run forward as well, and cursed to go back and block the ball, but he missed by a hair.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed heavily, as everyone wheeled around to run back.

 

“No worries, that’s why we’ve got midfielders too,” Eggsy said cheerily enough, because Rufus was already intimidated enough by his new position. “Just go with your instincts.”

 

And not having the time to chat he raced forward and they all went into the crush of players.

 

The Kinsgmen were doing well, they really were. The Valentines were probably spending more time around their goal than they were spending around the Valentines’ goal, but at least the Valentines hadn’t scored again yet. The Kingsmen defense were in top form, and as soon as the ball came into their end they would boot it back out before Nate, their goalie, had time to even get ready for it.

 

But with a one-point lead, the Kingsmen _should_ have been spending more time by the Valentines’ goal, playing offensively. If Charlie were here –

 

Eggsy shook the thought away. He’d relied too much on his, Roxy’s, and Charlie’s easy communication. He was a captain and should have been spending more time making sure all players could cover for anybody, not just relying on the players he was used to. He squared his shoulders and played on.

 

Playing continued at about the same rate for ten minutes. The Kingsmen were defending fiercely but couldn’t seem to make it up to the Valentines’ end as much. Gazelle was still dogging Eggsy as much as ever, but at least this half she didn’t seem to be actively trying to trip him up, which he’d take as its own victory.

 

But however cohesive the Kingsmen defenders were, the Valentines were still a strong team, and it was only a matter of time before one of their shots at the goal flew in, no way for anyone to block it.

 

The whistle blew and Nate got up from where he’d leapt for the ball, angrily brushing the grass stains off his knees, as the Valentines whooped in celebration at having gone up a point.

 

“S’alright, lads and lass, we’re still tied, don’t let up now okay?” Eggsy said, clapping for team encouragingly. They just gave tight nods. Fuck they were slipping.

 

Before they resumed play he jogged over to Roxy. “Rox we’ve gotta get up there more, they’re spending way too much time around Nate. I’m surprised this is the first time the ball’s gone in this half.”

 

“I know,” she said in frustration. “I know we’re better than their defenders but it’s different without –“

 

“Don’t say it alright?” Eggsy said fiercely. “We’ve still got this. You’re the best bloody forward I’ve ever played with. Doesn’t matter that one of us is off, you’re worth five players by yourself all right?”

 

Roxy nodded tightly, and lifted her chin and got ready to play again.

 

At one point it looked like the Kingsmen forwards were on a breakaway as they shot back up the pitch towards the Valentines’ end, sun beating down on their shoulders.

 

“Yes Rox!” Eggsy cheered out as she brought it up to the goal, taking a shot. Their goalie blocked it but Roxy caught the rebound, smacking it over to Eggsy.

 

Eggsy felt rather than saw Gazelle coming up behind him, and he passed the ball flat along the ground as it skimmed across the turf to Rufus.

 

“Shoot!” Eggsy yelled, but not hearing him Rufus passed it to Roxy, who wasn’t open. A Valentine defender intercepted it easily, booting it out of the crush over to their forwards who took it down to the Kingsmen’s end, Gazelle leading the way. And in what felt like not even a minute, the Valentines were barreling through the Kingsmen defenders and scored _again_ , and Eggsy could only watch from the other end of the field with his heart sinking, listening to the cries of protest from his teammates around him.

 

The whistle blew, and Eggsy spotted Merlin off the side, calling for a timeout, which Lincoln granted with a nod.

 

“Bring it in, guys,” Roxy said and they jogged agitatedly back to the sidelines, where Merlin was waiting with his lips pursed.

 

They settled around him, none of them able to look him in the eye properly.

 

“Look at me,” he said sternly. They looked up reluctantly and he spread his hands.

 

“What is going on out there? You were all dominating the field in the first half. We come back and it’s like you’re all asleep on your feet out there, and they’re in the lead! I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the other team just scored twice in less than five minutes, do I?”

 

“It’s all my bloody fault,” Rufus said furiously. “You shouldn’t have put me on.”

 

“Yes I should have, because you’re good at the position when you’re not doubting yourself,” Merlin said sharply, at Rufus’ talking back.

 

“We’d have scored again by now if it weren’t for me though,” Rufus said insistently. “That last goal was my fault, I shouldn’t have passed to Rox.”

 

“No that last goal was my fault,” Nate said fuming. “I was barely recovering from the first one and let the second one go right past me. I lost focus, coach.”

 

“You wouldn’t have had to block it if I’d been on Digby’s left like I’m supposed to,” Hugo said angrily. “I missed their play entirely, it was my fault.”

 

“OI!” Eggsy yelled at them in disbelief. Their heads swiveled over and he lifted his hands, in perfect unconscious imitation of Merlin. “What are you all on about?”

 

He made steady eye contact with each of his team members. “All you guys saying a goal was your _fault_? Mates, they’re a professional soccer team, it would be weird if they _didn’t_ score goals.”

 

“But you know what’s weirder?” he continued, gazing at their tired faces. “We’re a professional soccer team too, but we’re not acting like it!”

 

He turned to Hugo. “Quick, Hugo, what were my scoring stats last season?”

 

“Ummm…” Hugo’s forehead creased. Eggsy looked over at Rufus.

 

“How many saves to misses did Nate have in the quarter finals?”

 

Rufus bunched his eyebrows. “He had…uh…”

 

Eggsy looked at Nate. “What percentage of Roxy’s shots are goals?”

 

Nate just shrugged, and Eggsy turned to them all with a smile.

 

“You think our stats _matter_?” he asked in disbelief, practically laughing. They looked at him in surprise. “Of course they don’t! We never keep track of each other’s fuckups during the season, so why the hell are we doing it to ourselves now? We’re not a bunch of single players right now, alright? We’re a _team_. So can we go out there and actually _play_ like one?”

 

He looked at them in earnest.

 

“I’m in,” Roxy said first, reaching over to clap Rufus encouragingly on the back. The rest of the players were lifting their heads up a little, looking at their teammates apologetically, slapping each other’s shoulders.

 

Eggsy looked at them nodding supportively. “Here’s the deal. Right now we’re playing _their_ game. Let’s go out there and make them play ours. Alright?”

 

They nodded, chins raised, a spark of life back in their eyes again.

 

“I said, ALRIGHT?” Eggsy hollered.

 

“ALRIGHT,” they shouted back, some laughing, as they began to spill back onto the field.

 

Eggsy was about to scamper after them, but he was held back by Merlin.

 

“Eggsy…” his coach said in a gruff voice, and then hesitated. “If you’re ever still given to wondering why I made you captain in the first place…”

 

Eggsy looked up at him in surprise and Merlin just smiled down at him.

 

“That.”

 

Eggsy just swallowed and nodded.

 

“Now go get ‘em,” Merlin said, lifting a hand at Lincoln, and Eggsy hurtled back onto the pitch.

 

The whistle blew and playing resumed, and the Kingsmen were full-on charging, desperate to get in just one more goal in the next few minutes so they could tie things up. Then whoever scored next would win, or they’d stay tied and go into overtime. But for now, they needed _one_ more goal, just one.

 

The Kingsmen defenders were like walls. Nate was poised to crouch at a millisecond’s notice, but he needn’t have bothered, the way the defense didn’t let anything through them, passing the ball handily up to the midfielders.

 

Hugo, Digby, and Andrew bounced the ball between themselves the next time the Valentines brought it over to their end, making the Valentine forwards run around in circles. Once they’d gotten them all mixed up and out of formation they knocked it back up the field.

 

“Beautiful, lads!” Eggsy shouted at them, racing up the field, keeping an eye on Roxy who’d gotten the ball. “Rox, double back! Go Rufus!”

 

Roxy kicked the ball behind her where it was scooped up immediately by Rufus, nailing the play Eggsy had had in mind. Rufus kicked it immediately over to Eggsy who dribbled it up the field, swooping around Gazelle, and dodging the Valentine defenders easily, in footwork that was second nature to him.

 

Still too far for a shot he passed the ball over to Rufus who caught it on his cleat, smacking it seamlessly back to Eggsy. With the extra height he booted it far left over to Roxy who leapt up, threw her head forward to smack it in a header back to Eggsy, as the Valentine goalie looked wildly between the forwards not knowing who the ball would go to next, not suspecting that it would be towards him. Because the second Roxy headed it over to Eggsy, Eggsy leapt up, threw his left leg forward to smack the ball just as it arrived at his cleat, and –

 

“GOAL!” screamed the announcers and the Kingsmen shrieked, going as mad as their fans in the stands, who were currently turning the stadium into a fluttering sea of royal blue flags.

 

Eggsy sunk down to his knees grinning hugely as Roxy tackled him in a hug, yelling incoherently in his ear. He squeezed her back.

 

“Nice header,” he complimented her. “And YOU,” he said, bellowing at Rufus. Eggsy got up and ran over to their new forward to throw his arms around him, theatrically smooching his cheek. “BRILLIANT,” he hollered at him.

 

“If you say so, Unwin,” Rufus said laughing, but he looked flushed and pleased, caught in the high that Eggsy knew so well, of when the players around you are all on the same page.

 

“I do,” Eggsy said, disentangling from him, giving the rest of his team a thumbs up. “Way to go, lads,” he shouted down the field.

 

He caught Gazelle scowling at Eggsy’s having gotten around her again, but Eggsy was too thrilled by the fact that they were tied up again. There were five minutes left on the clock and the crowd was going absolutely wild that they’d be seeing a final showdown.

 

“Think you’ve got another one in you?” Roxy asked him only half-jokingly. “We don’t need overtime right now, everyone’s in their final push.” She was referring to the limited substitutions allowed in football overtime. Overtime could be excruciating for players, and most of their core eleven had been playing since the beginning. The fact that they weren’t completely wiped out by now would have been a miracle if Eggsy didn’t know how much drive his team had.

 

“Keep giving me headers like that, no problem,” Eggsy said giving her a wink. But privately he agreed with her, and his cocky countenance was masking an inner drive that _ached_. Overtime would feel like a brand new game. And he wanted _this_ game, he wanted this game as much as he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

 

They resumed play, Eggsy squinting more and more against the blazing sun. It was directly in their eyes now and the Valentines were like black outlines that rushed at them from the depths of its yellow glare. When they ran towards the Valentines’ goal it was hard to see them until they were right in front of you.

 

Not long now. Eggsy was breathing hard as the teams took the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a flurry of shimmering jerseys, bruised legs, clacking cleats, all of them blood pumpingly desperate to get possession of the ball.

 

Eggsy glanced up at the scoreboard and almost laughed hysterically at the row of threes he saw. 3-3 score, three minutes to go. Three 3s, all in blinking neon. He took it as an omen.

 

He couldn’t see Harry in the crowd, but he imagined he could feel the man’s eyes on him. He knew Harry would be leaning forward imperceptibly, his jaw a fixed line as his eyes tracked the players and Eggsy. What would Harry do? He might have swept into Eggsy’s life only recently, but he’d been Eggsy’s football hero for far longer, and what the hell would Harry Hart, former Kingsmen forward, jersey #9, do at this point in the game?

 

Well he wouldn’t be woolgathering, Eggsy thought while chiding himself. Two minutes now.

 

He focused back in on the players who were engaged in almost bloody combat by the Kingsmen nets. One of the Valentines took a shot and Nate scooped it up before it could even go near the net. He gave it a massive goalkick that sailed over the heads of the players, coming straight down the field in a massive arc that hit the ground, bounced once hard, and then rolled to Eggsy’s feet like a bloody godsend.

 

Eggsy didn’t even hesitate. He drew it between his cleats and took _off_ , running hell-bent towards the Valentines net. He vaguely registered Roxy and Rufus yelling encouragements from somewhere behind him, but his whole head was focused in on the Valentines goal as his legs spun and whirled the ball forward, running as fast as the stadium clock which had just hit one minute and was now whirring down in seconds and milliseconds towards zero.

 

One of the Valentine midfielders came barreling at him out of nowhere, camouflaged by the sun’s rays, and Eggsy didn’t even stop to think. He just pulled the ball back with one foot, kicked it up _behind_ his own back, and twisted his torso gracefully to catch the ball on his right, continuing his dribbling sprint without breaking pace or expression, like nothing had ever happened.

 

 _Okay_ , he thought quietly, the entire stadium having muted to background for him. Just him and the goal. He saw the goalie crouching, hands out, getting ready to leap. Eggsy knew this goalie had a tendency to leap left, so drawing himself up and coiling all his muscles Eggsy feinted left, but then _quickly_ shot the ball to the right as far as he could go without missing the net entirely. He held his breath.

 

But the goalie had seen it coming and slid to his knees where the ball was flying, in any attempt to block it. It bounced squarely off the goalie’s knees, flying high in the air.

 

Eggsy charged. But so did Gazelle who’d been circling around her own defenders. Making eye contact for a fleeting second they both leapt up to kick the ball, her trying to get it out, him trying to get it _in_.

 

Eggsy felt time almost slow down as he jumped up, twisting his body, trying to get to the ball first. All of a sudden there was a bright glare filling his eyes. It was the sun bouncing off of Gazelle’s shining prosthetics, the blazing light reflecting and hitting him square in the eye, blocking his vision with gold.

 

Eggsy closed his eyes. Wasn’t like he could see the ball anyways. And holding his breath midair he tilted his body, swung his leg back, then instinctively brought it forward. He felt his foot connect with something, and fell to the ground in a heap, hitting hard, breathing heavily.

 

It was only when he heard the stadium roar that he lifted his head off the ground, peeked his eyes open, and saw he’d kicked the ball straight into the back of the net. Blind.

 

Three things happened: first, the scoreboard switched to 4-3. Second, the stadium’s screams intensified into a whole other decibel level. Then third, Eggsy let his head fall back to the ground, reveled in the flood of joy that was rushing through him, filling him up up, up from the inside, building in a swell until he was taking a deep breath, face breaking into a huge grin, punching two fists up into the air, and screaming out –

 

“YES!”

 

Eggsy just stayed there on his back, fists aloft, laughing in pure wonder, joy, and amazement as the stadium erupted around him.

 

The stands were a mass of leaping, screaming bodies, the assistants, personnel and officials were all hollering and hugging each other on the sides, the announcers were losing it in the booths, their voices booming out of the speakers and ringing around the stadium at top volume, and in the middle of it all, flat on his back was Eggsy, fists thrust victoriously upwards, letting it all crash into him.

 

He sat up dazed, a big silly grin on his face and Roxy was first to reach him, not even breaking her speed for a minute as she sunk to her knees and collided against him, knocking him straight back to the ground.

 

She laughed as they rolled once on the ground before he stood up, lifting her with him, swinging her up until her toes were off the ground.

 

“Unwin you bloody miracle,” she was laughing in his ear, and he hugged her even harder than he had before.

 

“I fucking love you, mate,” was all Eggsy could think of to say, laughing right back at her, happiness exploding out of every pore. And it kicked into high gear when the rest of his team jumped on them, every last one of them shouting at the top of their lungs, losing their fucking minds, all wanting to pummel Eggsy and leap on him to show appreciation, since right here, right now with their mouths and limbs screaming in victory, words were too much.

 

Eggsy broke out from where Hugo and Digby had him in a headlock and saw the rest of their players and Merlin all running from the sidelines, shouting incoherently at them. Eggsy ran forward leaping against Merlin and crashing into him to hug his coach. And Eggsy was not a small person but Merlin lifted him up like his player weighed fucking nothing, to hug him back properly.

 

“Your mum is crying over there,” Merlin shouted in Eggsy’s ear, accent as thick as Eggsy had ever heard it. “And I don’t blame her.” Eggsy laughed and kissed his coach’s cheek and slid back to the ground, taking off past the rest of his team towards the stands, trailed by a herd of cameras all following him, reporters going mad as they swamped him, trying to get in front of him to get a shot of his beaming face. His smile widened as he saw his mum with tears on her cheeks, holding up Daisy who was cheering tinnily without really knowing why.

 

Eggsy jumped up to the bleachers, holding onto the rail as he leaned forward, a million hands reaching out to pat him, congratulate him. He tilted as far over the rail as he could go so his mum could kiss his forehead. He gave her a squeeze with one arm and then let go to ruffle Daisy’s hair and scoop her up. He held onto the rail with one arm, holding his little sister with the other.

 

“Look up, Days!” he said laughing, pointing to their faces plastered all over the big screen. They gave the screen a wave and he kissed the top of her head and passed his sister back to his mum so he could drop back down to the pitch, and run over and be with his team.

 

He joined their madcap jumping up and down, Nate being the first person he tackled in a hug. Eggsy would _hate_ to be a goalie, but Nate had been a beast in nets as for as long as Eggsy had played with him.

 

Then he fairly leapt on the defenders, ruffling up their hair as they all shouted at each other in excitement. Then Eggsy turned to Rufus.

 

“Fantastic, mate,” he said grinning, punching Rufus in the arm.

 

“Won’t be sorry when this guy gets back to it though,” Rufus said, nodding at someone behind Eggsy’s shoulder. Eggsy spun around and saw Charlie weakly propped up on Roxy’s shoulder, looking rather groggy with concussion but beaming at them nonetheless.

 

“C’mere,” he grinned at Eggsy, and Eggsy laughed and went over to hug him gently with Charlie’s concussion in mind, resisting the urge to tackle his fellow forward in a bear hug the way he wanted to. He marvelled for a moment at how long it had taken for them to get to a point where they were even just _civil_ with one another, let alone have their first instinct be to go in for a hug.

 

“If you had to knock yourself out, I’m glad it was for a good cause,” Eggsy said, patting Charlie’s back. “That was some goal, mate.”

 

“You’re one to talk, Unwin,” Charlie scoffed, jostling Eggsy’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “Were your eyes _closed_ that last time?”

 

“Guess we’ll find out in the playback,” Eggsy said. And even though he’d already congratulated Roxy he leaned forward to give her another hug. “You were brilliant, Morton.”

 

“Right back at you,” she said, her face beaming, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, knees scraped up and bruised, smile brilliant, the most beautiful woman Eggsy had ever known. “This is fun, isn’t it?” she said, laughing at the understatement.

 

“You’ve got that right,” Eggsy said, throwing his head back to whoop in delight, and the rest of their team converged upon them, continuing to jump about in celebration.

 

Eventually the Kingsmen broke apart to go seek out the Valentine players who’d scattered despondently around the field, and shake their hands. Their goalie had barely moved, still sitting dejectedly in the nets. Silver is great. But not when you’ve been fighting for gold.

 

Eggsy was just shaking hands with one of their forwards when he spotted Gazelle across the field, eyeing him appraisingly. Most of the Valentines had been looking at him grudgingly, but she just had a smile playing about her lips.

 

Eggsy still didn’t trust her an inch. But…well he wouldn’t mind playing against her again sometime. Because even playing fairly she’d still given him a run for his money, just like he’d said she would.

 

He gave her a nod which she returned. She turned on a shining heel, cleats winking at him in the sun. And then she was striding off the field, back straight, and chin held high to go meet her coach.

 

Eggsy turned back to his own people, laughing when he saw the magnum bottle of champagne they’d produced.

 

Merlin had wrestled the cork most of the way out, and it was perched at the very tip of the bottleneck, straining from the pressure of bubbles behind it. Merlin shook it up vigorously, and then handed the enormous fizzing bottle over to Eggsy.

 

“Care to do the honors?” he asked grinning.

 

Eggsy took the bottle from him, shook it up a few more times for good measure and hollered at his team:

 

“ONE!...TWO!...”

 

And on their deafening ‘THREE’ he pushed out the cork and the bottle was bursting in a champagne explosion, golden in the sunlight, and a laughing Eggsy shook its spray all over his whooping teammates.

 

Soon there would be more handshakes, a trophy ceremony, press questions, and what was sure to be a long, richly-earned night out with his team.

 

But for now Eggsy just tightened his hands around the bottleneck and blasted his friends with the foaming deluge, grinning as they squealed and hollered and got caught in the shower. Eggsy laughed as some of the liquid spray pushed up past his fingers and hit him too, getting his hair drenched and sticky. He tilted his head back with a grin and let everything, his teammates’ laughter, the flashing camera shutters, the sparkling champagne mist and the golden sunlight wash over him and fill him up to the brim.

 

***

 

It was about eight o’clock when Eggsy strode back onto the field, showered, in jeans and a t-shirt, not looking a bit like the panting, sweaty footballer he’d been four hours ago. Nothing except the glow he was carrying inside him from that game. It had still yet to burn out.

 

He grinned at how different the pitch looked now. Empty, stands deserted, the sky dark, the stadium lights switched on, the air cool. It might have been a completely different place. But in a fit of sentiment, Eggsy dropped to the ground and brushed his hand once over the turf. Same tingle.

 

He straightened up and looked around the stadium, happiness bubbling up inside him, like it had done every time he’d so much as thought about their game.

 

But now he had an extra reason to be happy, and if it arrived when he said he would, it should be joining Eggsy in three…two…

 

“Eggsy,” he heard Harry’s voice say, and he whirled around to see the man himself, standing behind him, lit up by the spotlights, looking radiant as he stared at Eggy, drinking him in, positively _beaming_ at him.

 

“Well you’re bang on time,” Eggsy joked.

 

“Miracles do happen,” Harry said, eyes crinkling. And then he stepped purposefully forward, slid an arm around Eggsy’s waist to pull him in, and he was kissing Eggsy within an inch of his life.

 

Eggsy laughed into Harry’s mouth, throwing his arms around the man’s neck, allowing Harry to lift him to his toes as he kissed Eggsy so hard he was practically bending Eggsy back, fucking princess-style.

 

Eggsy didn’t give a shit and he reached up to slide his hands through Harry’s soft hair and grip the man’s head to make him kiss him _harder._ Eggsy’s heart was going as fast as it ever had in his life, banging joyfully against his ribcage. His teeth kept clacking into Harry’s as their lips pulled, pressed, and tasted each other, because he couldn’t stop bloody smiling. He was so happy it practically _hurt_ , burning him up from the inside.

 

“ _Harry_.” Eggsy laughed, tightening his arms around Harry’s neck, kissing him quickly and forcefully, once, twice, three times, and was then dropping his head to Harry’s shoulder, grinning hugely against the lapels of Harry’s suit as he started honest-to-god, _giggling_.

 

Harry laughed, the sound gorgeously tickling Eggsy’s ear, squeezing Eggsy tighter in his embrace, and he swung Eggsy around once, Eggsy’s delighted whoop getting sucked into the empty stadium.

 

Harry laughed again, setting Eggsy down with his hands clasped on Eggsy’s cheeks.

 

“I am so –“ he kissed the side of Eggsy’s face. “Bloody –“ he kissed Eggsy’s forehead. “Ridiculously –“ another kiss on Eggsy’s eye. “Stupidly –“ his lips kissed Eggsy’s jaw. “proud of you,” he finished, pressing a kiss to Eggsy’s mouth.

 

Eggsy thought his heart was going to bloody explode as he kissed Harry back, not bothering to fight the laugh that was bubbling up in his throat. He pulled back and his laugh rang out, happy and pure, and Harry looked at him like he’d never seen anything more dazzling in his life.

 

“You brilliant young man,” he said. “You are absolutely _stunning_ , Eggsy.”

 

“And you are bloody gorgeous, and if you don’t kiss me again I’m gonna _scream_ ,” Eggsy said grinning, and the words hadn’t even left his mouth before Harry was swooping down and catching Eggsy’s lips against his own, happy to oblige.

 

They stood there swaying on the side of the pitch, mouths working together, arms wrapped around each other tight, their feelings from the day crashing out against each other, both just trying to absorb as much of the other as possible.

 

When they finally drew apart Eggsy’s lips were buzzing and his eyes were bright, and Harry gazed at him entranced.

 

“I’m glad you came back here,” Harry murmured to Eggsy. “You don’t have legions of admirers to hold court over? Or massive parties to attend with the team?”

 

“We’re actually meeting in an hour, since you ask,” Eggsy said brightening. “Starting at my local and going from there.”

 

Harry laughed. “At your neighbourhood pub? Well if anyone deserves to choose the first stop of the night after that game it’s you.”

 

“Would you come along?” Eggsy asked hesitantly. “For a bit? I mean I know we gotta keep it on the down low for now, but you could still join as like…’team mascot’ or summat. I mean you did ref us for a bit _and_ you’re a friend of Merlin’s, _and_ your old team just won the UK final, so I’m pretty sure you could get away with –“

 

“Eggsy,” Harry interrupted him. He stroked Eggsy’s chin with his thumb. “I’d be delighted.”

 

“Fucking aces.” Eggsy grinned. “The team’ll be thrilled.”

 

“Oh the _team_ will, will they?” Harry teased Eggsy.

 

Eggsy blushed but leaned into Harry’s touch. “Fine, _I’d_ be thrilled.”

 

“Better,” Harry said, leaning in to brush his lips against Eggsy’s.

 

Eggsy smiled at the touch, and continued: “But really, the team’ll go fucking mental when you show. They’ll all be begging for stories about Merlin, or wanting to go over every single one of your old plays.”

 

Harry laughed, but then he was cocking his head to the side, a smile creeping up his lips.

 

“Well that reminds me. I must say, that last move of yours before your goal looked _awfully_ familiar, but I don’t remember actually getting around to showing it to you,” he said.

 

Eggsy blinked up at him. “What move?”

 

“The one you were going on about from my last final, remember? The kick behind with the left foot, catch with the right? You kept saying the right foot was giving you trouble, but it certainly didn’t look that way from the stands,” Harry said, sliding his hands into Eggsy’s hair fondly.

 

Eggsy’s mouth dropped open. “I _did_ that one?”

 

“And beautifully too,” Harry said amused.

 

“ _Shut up_.”

 

“I can assure you if you watch the replay you’ll see I’m right.”

 

Eggsy stared at Harry gobsmacked. And then he was throwing his head back, letting out a hoot of glee.

 

“Just like the press said, folks, it’s Harry Hart, born again,” Eggsy said, laughing through his fake-announcer’s voice.

 

“I thought you hated that old comparison,” Harry said smiling at him, running a hand down Eggsy’s neck.

 

Eggsy just grinned and placed his own hand over Harry’s where it was teasing at his collarbone. “Bruv, I couldn’t be prouder of it right now if I tried.”

 

Harry’s smile deepened and he leaned forward to kiss Eggsy again. When their mouths broke apart, Eggsy rubbed his forehead against Harry’s a little and let it rest there, breathing the man in.

 

“My actual goal was way cooler than yours though,” he murmured finally, laughing at Harry’s noise of protest.

 

“It was not, I actually _flipped_ in mine.”

 

“Were your eyes closed when you scored, bruv?”

 

“I don’t remember because I was flipping in mid-air.”

 

“Gosh, that sounds almost as cool as scoring a goal with your eyes closed.”

 

“So what, all of a sudden you’re the better footballer now, hmm?”

 

“Darn right,” Eggsy said, smoothing down Harry’s jacket. “But not to worry mate, second best looks ravishing on you.”

 

“I resent that,” Harry scoffed.

 

“I think there’s only one way to settle this,” Eggsy said seriously, breaking away and walking to a bench on the sidelines, retrieving a forgotten football from underneath it. He held it up to Harry, waggling his eyebrows. “Quick game of one-on-one?”

 

“You are about to see first-hand the superior power of age and experience,” Harry said primly, removing his jacket and folding it neatly before placing it onto the turf.

 

“You’re on, mate,” Eggsy said grinning.

 

Harry retrieved a coin from his pocket. “Alright, now let’s call heads or tails and – hey!”

 

Eggsy was hurling the football out into the middle of the field and racing after it.

 

“First one there wins!” he hollered gleefully over his shoulder, and Harry sputtered and ran after him.

 

They bolted out onto the field after the ball, laughing as they took turns shoving at each other to get there first, their figures weaving and dipping together under the spotlights as they ran across the pitch, fighting for the ball. Harry’s Oxfords connected with it first and Eggsy groaned good-naturedly, but couldn’t even bring himself to care that Harry had ‘won’.

 

Because now he was watching Harry laugh as he dribbled the ball away, weaving it between his feet and spiriting it across the field, beckoning for Eggsy to come after him. And as far as Eggsy was concerned…

 

Eggsy had never felt like more of a winner in his life.

 

 

 

**The End.**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, and thank you so much for reading! This was my first Kingsman fic and you guys were amazing with such nice comments, as well as putting up with such a long hiatus! Shout out to both the people who hate soccer but still read for the story, and to those who love soccer and let me take extreme artistic liberties with the world of sports haha. Stay tuned for a possible epilogue, but in the meantime thanks so much again, and I hope you guys enjoyed:)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....and here's the epilogue I mentioned! It depicts the next 5 years after the final, one scene per year. I like the ending of the fic and don't think it really NEEDS an epilogue haha, but these closure scenes were stuck in my head as much as the actual fic was so I thought I'd write them anyways. I hope you guys enjoy the complete story and thanks so much again for all your nice words:)

 

 

 

_ 1 year later _

 

“Oi, it’s gonna be on any minute!” Eggsy called into the kitchen from where he was curled up on the sofa.

 

“Do you want tea or not?” Harry called back from where he was placing cups on a tray that carried a steaming teapot.

 

“What I want is for them to get on with it,” Eggsy said, scowling at the telly.

 

“They will,” Harry said, carrying the tray into the living room where he placed it on the coffee table. He then went over to sit next to Eggsy, who curled into him automatically.

 

Eggsy reached out for one of the mugs and brought it to his lips, taking a scalding sip and wincing slightly, putting it back on the tray to cool properly. He leaned back into Harry, and Harry could feel how tense he was.

 

“Maybe we shoulda gone with martinis after all,” Eggsy mumbled into Harry’s shoulder.

 

“My dear boy, it’s going to be fine,” Harry murmured, sliding his fingers through Eggsy’s hair, angling his head to place a kiss there.

 

“Easy for you to say,” Eggsy protested. “You’re retired. I’ve still got about five years left in the limelight if I keep playing.”

 

“And they’ll be brilliant years,” Harry assured him, giving him a squeeze.

 

Eggsy hummed noncommittally, but he relaxed slightly as he glanced around the living room that had become as familiar a place to him as the football field.

 

He remembered the first time he’d been to Harry’s house, thinking how much the place suited the man. It felt so much homier than Eggsy’s own bachelor pad, and Eggsy had taken a delight in exploring the whole place, finding details of what made Harry _Harry_. Some were expected like the classy antique furniture that shone in almost every room, their surfaces topped with old football trophies. Some were surprises, like the baby grand piano Eggsy had fairly _begged_ Harry to play for him. And some were just…well let’s just say that when Eggsy had found the complete works of Ian Fleming squeezed between a football almanac and a civil law textbook in Harry’s study, he’d just slowly shaken his head at the man, biting the insides of his cheeks.

 

He’d taken to spending more and more time at Harry’s place, keeping some extra workout clothes in a drawer that Harry had cleared in his bedroom, along with an old set of cleats and shinpads. It just made it easier for when Eggsy had early morning practices. Then he wouldn’t have to go home to get his kit first whenever he spent the night at Harry’s.

 

And then an extra toothbrush had taken up residence next to Harry’s in the bathroom, shortly followed by Eggsy’s preferred body wash in the large walk-in shower. Some normal clothes made an appearance in the workout drawer as well, a few jumpers and jeans appearing next to the trackpants and athletic jerseys. Eventually more of Eggsy’s things began to trickle into Harry’s house, including some favourite books. Eggsy’s huge musical theatre anthology was now a permanent fixture on Harry’s glass coffee table. And the sight of an old, crinkled, James Bond paperback lying on top of it became a common one, along with two mugs left out and getting cold, well after their owners had gone to bed.

 

When Eggsy had realized he’d all but moved out of the flat above his Mum’s, he’d felt a stab of guilt. He’d always lived with or at least near his Mum and his baby sister. But they were doing well, Eggsy was doing well, and if he’d apparently moved on and started up this newer chapter in his life, well, maybe it was just because it was time.

 

“Ah, I think this is it,” Harry said, turning the volume up. Eggsy snapped out of his reverie and watched the screen swirl into the logo for England’s most popular and revered sports channel. His hand automatically sought Harry’s and he braced himself as their leading anchorwoman appeared.

 

“This is Sheila Waters and we’re back with breaking football news,” she said, a picture of Harry and Eggsy appearing behind the anchor _._ “After a week of rumors about Eggsy Unwin and Harry Hart, current and former stars of the renowned UK Kingsmen football team, we now finally have an official statement, released just today from the Kingsmen headquarters.”

 

“This is the one Roxy wrote, right?” Harry asked Eggsy quietly.

 

“Yup. Thank god,” Eggsy added. Roxy had taken one look at their publicity team’s official statement, had narrowed her eyes, and reached wordlessly for a red pen on Merlin’s desk.

 

“The statement reads as follows,” the anchorwoman said, straightening out the cards she held on her desk. _“Eggsy Unwin and Harry Hart can confirm they have been in a relationship for the past year. They met during last year’s UK Cup tournament for which Hart was briefly a referee, with the exception of the final match. While Hart refereed three of Unwin’s matches, including the semi-final game in which he notably sent Unwin off with a red card, the two didn’t know each other off the field until after the tournament was over.”_

 

“Would that I had that much restraint,” Harry mumbled self-deprecatingly, and Eggsy shushed him as the anchorwoman went on.

 

“ _They were later properly introduced by Kingsmen coach Merlin Graham at an official post-tournament celebration to which Hart was formally invited as a gesture for his contributions to the tournament. While they began a romantic relationship shortly afterwards, they wished to wait before publically revealing it. Both parties were naturally concerned that there would be those who’d doubt the integrity of the games they participated in, despite their infrequent interactions while the tournament took place, and despite Hart not even reffing the final match in which the Kingsmen won.”_

 

“Good job, Rox,” Eggsy said, nodding at how the first half of the statement – total lies – merged seamlessly into the second half – total truth.

 

_“Their concerns however are misplaced, as their relationship has the full support of the Kingsmen team, including Unwin’s co-captain, Roxanne Morton, and coach Merlin Graham. They also have the support of the Premier League as well, whom Hart and Unwin asked to look into the situation. The League deemed their tournament interactions to be completely aboveboard, and with this assurance they now feel comfortable revealing their relationship. This will be the only statement they have on the matter, and they thank the public for their understanding and well-wishes.”_

 

Harry snorted. “Well wishes. I feel like I can hear the paparazzi already.”

 

The anchorwoman turned to her cohost, smiling a little and huffing out a surprised, professional news broadcaster’s laugh. “What do you make of it, Stephen?”

 

“Well I’m plain bowled over, Sheila,” the man in the suit next to her was saying.

 

“Same here. There were rumors about a relationship within the Kingsmen swirling, but we thought it was going to be about Eggsy and Roxy, didn’t we?”

 

“Well so did half of Great Britain I’d wager,” the man said laughing slightly. “Eggsy Unwin and _Harry Hart?_ There are going to be some severely disappointed young women out there I’m sure.”

 

“As a member of the public I’m as surprised as you, Stephen,” the woman said. “But as a football fan of both Hart and Unwin’s, all I can think about is that if they ever have kids, those are going to be some _seriously_ fearsome footballers.”

 

The news anchors both laughed in liberal ‘we’re so accepting’ tones, before the woman continued. “But in all seriousness…it’s a good statement but there _will_ be those who’ll question the integrity of the relationship, no matter how impartial Harry Hart may have been in the tournament.”

 

“I think that’s bound to happen, Sheila, and…oh what’s this, we’re getting a call? Okay put her through.”

 

Harry and Eggsy leaned forward on the couch with identical worried frowns. What the hell was this?

 

“Can you state your name for the record?” Sheila asked, pressing a speaker button on the intercom on her desk.

 

 _“This is Giselle Norman, left forward for the Victoria Valentines,”_ came an unmistakable steady lilt through the intercom. _“Or ‘Gazelle’ if you prefer,”_ the voice added sardonically.

 

Eggsy and Harry looked at each other in total shock, as did the new anchors on their TV screen.

 

“Gazelle, it’s good to hear from you,” said sounding as at their guest as Eggsy felt. “You’ve played against Eggsy Unwin several times, one of those times under the supervision of Harry Hart in last year’s tournament. Do you have any insights for us on today’s shocking news?”

 

“ _Only this,”_ Gazelle’s voice continued. _“But if there’s anyone out there questioning the integrity of Eggsy Unwin, then they’re a bloody idiot.”_

 

Sheila and Stephen exchanged quick looks at the fiery insistence in Gazelle’s voice. “Gazelle you’re talking about the player who once famously tackled you in a game. Harry himself sent him off for that.”

 

 _“Yeah, so?”_ Gazelle asked, not sounding impressed. _“Sports are sports, mate, and tensions are always gonna get hot. Whether players are fighting or trash-talking – which I’ve definitely done – it’s never like it’s personal.”_

 

Eggsy and Harry were still looking at each other, completely bowled over, but Gazelle wasn’t done:

 

_“I know I never gave a flying f…football about it, and just wanted everyone to get over it. And like you said, there’s gonna be all kinds of idiots looking for a scandal. But the sooner they accept that everything the Kingsmen won in last year’s tournament happened fair and square the better. Because know this: Eggsy Unwin is the most irritatingly aboveboard and noble bloody footballer I’ve ever met. And if anyone wants to harass him about who he’s shacking up with, then I suggest they come to me instead.”_

“Wow,” came Sheila Waters’ surprised voice from the TV. “Thank you for your insights, Gazelle, that was quite the show of bipartisanship. Do you have any more comments you’d care to share with us today?”

 

 _“No._ ” And there was a clicking sound and an unmistakable dial tone.

 

“Well there you have it folks, straight from the Gazelle’s mouth,” said the anchorwoman. “And I’d wager that if even the captain of the Kingsmen’s most notable rivals has given her blessing, then I’m sure others will be quick to follow. Stephen, I’m told we have a clip?”

 

“Yes Sheila. In light of the news our team has put together a compilation of Eggsy Unwin and Harry Hart’s greatest plays, let’s take a look…”

 

Eggsy switched off the TV and looked at Harry in complete shellshock.

 

“Mate,” he drew out slowly. “I know a lot of weird shit has happened in the past year. But I think that right there is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire fucking _life_.”

 

“I can’t argue with you there,” Harry said, completely and utterly thrown for a loop. But for all that he was gobsmacked, he was also  _hugely_ relieved that it seemed their relationship wouldn't have any overwhelmingly disastrous effects on Eggsy's position. Eggsy had made it clear he wanted to be with Harry no matter what. But if Eggsy's career had been affected over this...well Harry just never would have forgiven himself.

 

Eggsy laughed dazedly, sinking back against the couch.

 

“Can’t fucking believe it,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“I can,” Harry said after a moment, lips curving up as he turned to look at Eggsy who was sprawled across his sofa like he belonged there. The sight never ceased to amaze Harry. “I believe that’s what they call karma,” he said, referring to when Eggsy had vouched for Gazelle in the last game they’d played together, despite her having given him nothing but grief until then.

 

“Well thank god for karma,” Eggsy said, tilting his head back on the couch. “Because I think the psycho bitch just saved our arses.”

 

“Thank god indeed,” Harry agreed, as he slid a hand to the inside of Eggsy’s thigh. “Because you have a _great_ arse.”

 

Eggsy looked back at Harry with his eyes twinkling, and ever so slightly widened his legs to give Harry better access. Harry’s hand slid further up his thigh and Eggsy’s breath hitched.

 

“You’re insatiable, Hart,” he murmured, eyes closing halfway as he smiled and took in a slight breath of anticipation.

 

“You have that effect on me,” Harry said, fondness written deep into every note of his voice, as his fingers crept up to the button on Eggsy’s jeans.

 

Eggsy snorted. “We both officially become the news story of the year, risked getting our careers destroyed, and all you can think about is fucking me?”

 

Harry shrugged. “I was actually rather hoping you'd fuck me tonight, but I mean if you insist…“

 

“Get over here,” Eggsy growled, yanking the man forward by his sweater, and pressed their lips hotly together, angling his body so that Harry’s angle weight was pushing Eggsy back into the sofa. Eggsy went down willingly and pulled Harry down with him, his weight a comforting reassurance over Eggsy.

 

They never ended up making it out of the living room to the bedroom, but it didn’t matter. But it was _their_ living room, as much as it was _their_ bedroom. This was their house and their life, and no amount of press, news coverage, or public opinion could ever take that away.

 

 

_ 2 years later _

 

“Rox, Rox I’m open!” Eggsy hollered across the pitch, knowing his voice didn’t carry, but also knowing Roxy had spotted him anyways. The ball flew over to him as straight and steady as Roxy ever kicked them, and he maneuvered it around a defensive player.

 

Seeing his way was blocked he gestured for Charlie to get behind him and Eggsy sent the ball sailing backwards to him.

 

Charlie engaged in dribble-off with some more players, not getting past them but not giving an inch either. He eventually decided his best bet was to smack the ball back to their midfielders to get it in the clear. Their midfielders sent it sailing back up the pitch to Roxy, who booted it towards the goal. It was intercepted by a defender, but not letting that stop her for a second she leapt up and smacked it over to Charlie who used his height to send it in a header over to Eggsy, who gave it an almighty knock with his cleat, sending it straight into the goal. Simple as breathing, but then again, once they got on the pitch the three practically breathed in rhythm at this point.

 

The stadium leapt to their feet cheering, and the three forwards met in tangled, sweaty embrace, hollering congratulations in each other’s ears. Eggsy was bloody excited about the match they’d just won, but for once there was something he was even _more_ excited about. Something he’d decided he’d do if they won this game.

 

He caught Merlin’s eye eagerly from across the pitch, and Merlin just rolled his eyes, but gestured for Eggsy to go for it, smiling a bit at the player’s enthusiasm.

 

Grinning, Eggsy bounded across the field to the stands, hopping up to grab the rail, and he pulled himself up until he was facing the people in the first row of the stands. His heart leapt as he came face-to-face with Harry who was standing up and clapping for the Kingsmen, big smile on his face.

 

“So what’d you think of the game?” Eggsy asked casually, leaning forward a bit.

 

“Phenomenal as always,” Harry said eyes sparkling. “Especially number 10, but then again I might be biased.” He was gazing at Eggsy so intently he didn’t notice the rest of his team creeping up to the stands behind Eggsy, so that they could watch, all of them nudging each other excitedly.

 

 

“You know those TV cameras are really hoping I’m gonna kiss you right now,” Eggsy said, jerking his head to the stadium camera crew.

 

“Oh what, for that blasted kiss cam?” Harry said laughing, catching sight of themselves on the big screen. “You know I hardly think that will help matters when half the population probably still thinks we’re a publicity stunt as it is.”

 

“You know I’ve been thinking about that,” Eggsy said nodding seriously. “They’d probably change their minds if we were married wouldn’t they?”

 

The people closest to them in the stands gasped and began buzzing excitedly around them. Harry just cocked his head at Eggsy.

 

“Well that depends,” he said, smile playing about his lips. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

 

“Well that depends,” Eggsy mimicked with a big grin. “Is your answer going to be what I think it’s gonna be?”

 

He stared at Harry, swallowed, and added more quietly: “What I _hope_ it’s gonna be?”

 

“My dear boy,” Harry said, reaching out to place a hand on top of Eggsy’s that was curled around the railing. “You should know by now there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.”

 

“Well in that case, check under your seat, bruv,” Eggsy said, nodding towards the plastic stadium chair Harry had been sitting in, heart going even faster than it had in all of his running from earlier.

 

Harry gave Eggsy a disbelieving look but reached under his seat, laughing in amazement as his fingers found the small box Roxy had taped under his reserved seat well before the game.

 

Harry drew it out, flicked the box open, and there in the center, sitting on a royal blue felt cushion was a simple silver ring. And even despite the nature of their earlier teasing buildup, Harry’s mouth still fell open when he saw it.

 

“Harry Hart will you marry me?” Eggsy asked over the railing, smiling wide enough to burst.

 

The stadium full of people who were seeing this play out on the big screen all screamed louder than they had at any point during the game, cheering and waving flags at what they were watching. But Harry just looked up, his face a mixture of love, shock, amazement, and awe, and he looked more dazzling than Eggsy had ever seen him before.

 

“Yes,” Harry said simply, too overcome to offer anything else. But he didn’t have to. He’d already just given Eggsy everything.

 

Egssy felt flooded with thanks and relief. He didn’t even notice as the stadium whistled and cheered around him, all stomping their feet. He reached forward and took the ring from the box. And carefully letting go of the railing he reached forward to take Harry’s left hand between his own, gently sliding the ring onto him. When he did the cheers around him went into the stratosphere, and he could vaguely register his team on the field behind them all punching the air. But he had eyes only for Harry, who’d reached out to cup his face, new ring shining softly on his hand.

 

“I wish I had a better word than just ‘yes’,” Harry confessed. “But _yes_ , Eggsy, a thousand times yes.”

 

“Thank god,” Eggsy said huffing out a laugh. And face suddenly going serious he stared deep into Harry’s eyes, and was then leaning forward. Harry met him halfway, and then the two of them were kissing in front of their team, the people in the stands, the stadium, and the entire world.

 

Once their lips parted they circled their arms around the other, wrapped up in as good a hug as they could manage over a railing.

 

“If you wanted to catch me completely by surprise, you succeeded,” Harry said in Eggsy’s ear, almost having to shout over the cheers around them.

 

“Well I _wanted_ to have the whole team take off their shirts to show ‘W-I-L-L  Y-O-U  M-A-R-R-Y  M-E’ written on their chests,” Eggsy said with a grin. “But Merlin said no.”

 

“Thank god for that,” Harry said laughing. “I’d have still said yes though.”

 

“Would you have taken your shirt off and written it on your chest too?” Eggsy asked, eyes twinkling.

 

“No,” Harry admitted. “I’m afraid that’s a sight that’s yours and yours alone.”

 

“Mine alone,” Eggsy repeated softly, smiling at the man who’d just agreed to be just that.

 

“Yes, Eggsy,” Harry said, matching his smile, and cupping Eggsy’s jaw with his hand again. “Yours.”

 

And leaning in he kissed Eggsy again, leaving no doubt.

 

 

_ 3 years later _

__

There was a knock on Merlin’s office door, and the man barely looked up from his desk where he was working late.

 

“Come in,” he called out tiredly, shifting a pile of forms to the side and ignoring his headache.

 

The door opened and a sun-darkened face poked its way around the door grinning at him, green eyes sparkling where they stood out against newly tanned skin.

 

“Anyone home?”

 

“Eggsy!” said Merlin laughing in genuine surprise. He stood up, coming around the desk. “I didn’t realize you were back already!”

 

“This morning,” Eggsy said. “Woulda called but was still sleeping off the jetlag.”

 

The two men met in the middle of the office. It had been two months since they’d last seen each other and they hugged warmly. Merlin slapped Eggsy’s back a couple times and pulled back, gesturing to his armchairs.

 

“So how was the honeymoon?” Merlin asked as they settled in.

 

“Brilliant,” Eggsy crowed, throwing his head back. “The Philippines are _amazing_ , bruv. Why can’t we have beaches like that in England?”

 

“Geology, climate, and hemisphere issues mostly,” Merlin said smiling, headache forgotten. “Did you spend the whole time on the beach?”

 

“I wish,” Eggsy said snorting. “But Harry got a massive sunburn on the first day and spent about a week in the hotel suite with the lights off, moaning underneath a bunch of wet towels.”

 

His lips twitched as he looked at Merlin, and then the two were exploding in laughter, Merlin’s shoulders shaking in mirth at his friend’s expense.

 

“That man is English through and through,” Merlin said finally, once he’d gotten his breath back.

 

“So I’m discovering more every day,” Eggsy said, laughing again, but his eyes took on an impossibly fond look as he sat back in his armchair, thinking about his husband.

 

Merlin couldn’t help the surge of affection that went through him as he looked at his player sitting easily in the chair across from him, shoulders relaxed, eyes content. He was a far cry from the suspicious lad Merlin had hired when Eggsy was barely past twenty, chip on his shoulder, angrily daring the world to knock it off.

 

Now Eggsy was getting towards thirty, and over the years their relationship had swung easily enough between professional, paternal, and pals, sometimes all three at once. Merlin had watched a lot of resentment and bitterness bleed out of Eggsy over those years. But ever since meeting Harry something had seemed to loosen inside of Eggsy permanently, and Merlin had never seen his young friend more at ease in his own skin.

 

“What are you looking at?” Eggsy asked at Merlin’s staring.

 

Merlin shook his head. “Just thinking married life suits you,” he said smiling.

 

“No argument from me there,” Eggsy said, sounding pleased.

 

“For once,” Merlin scoffed, but without heat. “Oh hey while you’re here, I know we talked about the new season but I just wanted to see if you were still –“

 

“Course I’ll still do one more year!” Eggsy said. “You got the contracts for this season yet?”

 

“Somewhere here,” Merlin said standing up, and going to his office’s filing cabinet. “And I’m glad to hear it,” he said over his shoulder, leafing through one of the drawers. “I mean you’ve still got one more year before you hit the age restrictions so I figured you’d want to take advantage, but still…”

 

Eggsy stood up, going over to Merlin’s desk where his coach was laying out a thick looking contract.

 

“Well this year _does_ have the World Cup,” Eggsy said, searching Merlin’s desk for a pen. “Seems silly to retire right before having a go at that.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Merlin said, handing him a pen.

 

“And besides,” Eggsy said, flipping through the contract to the very last page, not bothering to read it since he was well familiar with its contents at this point. “After this season that means we’ll have been playing together for almost ten years doesn’t it?” he asked Merlin, signing ‘Gary Unwin’ with a flourish and handing the pen back to him.

 

“Well that’s cause for a drink if I’ve ever heard one,” Merlin said eyes crinkling.

 

“Lead the way,” Eggsy said grabbing his jacket, and they left Merlin’s office, heading down the richly carpeted steps of the Kingsmen clubhouse.

 

As they walked Eggsy trained his eyes along the old grainy photographs that lined the walls, as was his habit. At the top of the stairs the photos started out fuzzy and black and white, image quality getting crisper towards the middle, colour starting to be added the closer they got to the lobby and the photos of more recent Kingsmen generations. The old team photos, notable press shots, and framed newspaper clippings all spanned an entire team history, and Eggsy would never stopped being humbled by his inclusion in it every time he walked by.

 

There was a new one near the bottom, taken just last year: Roxy in a simple white dress, kneeling before Queen Elizabeth who was holding the flat side of a sword to Roxy’s left shoulder. That’s right, Roxy had been honest to god _knighted_ for services to sport, and Eggsy, Merlin, and the whole team had all been there to watch proudly as Roxy became Dame Roxanne Morton.

 

It had been a hell of a day. And in Eggsy’s mind it was second _only_ to his wedding with Harry.

 

Eggsy and Merlin entered the lounge on the clubhouse’s ground floor, walking over to the long elegant bar where Eggsy jumped up to sit on one of the stools. Merlin went behind the bar to take out two tumblers, filling them each with a couple fingers of whiskey. He brought them back around the bar, amber liquid sloshing slightly as they clinked glasses.

 

“To one more year,” Eggsy said.

 

“Cheers,” Merlin agreed, taking a swallow.

 

They sat comfortably not speaking for a few minutes before Merlin broke the silence.

 

“There was something else I wanted to ask actually,” he said. “Have you given any thought as to what you’ll do after you retire?”

 

“Yeah actually,” Eggsy said. “Well nothing concrete, but I’ve been tossing around a few ideas.”

 

“Ever thought about coaching?” Merlin asked casually, raising his eyebrows at Eggsy before taking another sip.

 

“A bit,” Eggsy said surprised. “Why?”

 

“Well no pressure,” Merlin said easily. “But you wouldn’t consider coming on as assistant coach, would you?”

 

Eggsy stared at Merlin for a long beat.

 

“I’m talking about for the Kingsmen, Eggsy,” Merlin clarified drily.

 

“Yeah I _know_ ,” Eggsy said, shaking his head in a daze. “I’m flattered, mate, I am. I’m just surprised.”

 

“Really?” Merlin asked. “You have experience, you’ve been captain long enough, and when I eventually retire I’ll feel safe knowing the team is in good hands.”

 

“I just figured you’d ask Roxy first is all,” Eggsy said carefully.

 

“Well down the line I’d certainly ask her as well. Providing the two of you didn’t mind co-coaching, which I highly doubt you would,” Merlin said with a bit of a snort at how seamlessly his captains had always split their duties. “But I wouldn’t ask her yet. Women’s football has fewer age restrictions as you know. And after the World Cup I think she rather has her heart set on joining the women’s team for the next Olympics.”

 

Eggsy shook his head smiling at his mate’s drive. “What because she hasn’t got enough football accomplishments under her belt already?”

 

“Something like that,” Merlin said with a small smile, his eyes going fond as he looked down, rubbing a thumb along the rim of his glass.

 

Eggsy watched him. “Merlin, when are you finally going to make a dishonest woman out of that girl?”

 

Merlin gave Eggsy a look. But it broke as Merlin dropped the stern veneer and sighed, taking another pull of his drink.

 

“We have an agreement. When the time’s right and when I’m not her coach any longer. Provided she’s even still interested by then, that is,” he added a little dolefully.

 

“She loves you _so_ much, Merlin,” Eggsy said gently.

 

Merlin didn’t answer, just swallowed slightly.

 

“And I know you both know what you’re doing,” Eggsy added. “But Harry’s the best bloody thing that’s ever happened to me. And I guess I just want other people to have that too, if they’re lucky enough to already have that person in their life.”

 

Merlin’s lips twitched. “Since when do you give me advice about my love life?”

 

“Since you became my brother-in-law,” Eggsy replied matter-of-factly lifting his glass to take a sip, and Merlin groaned.

 

“I am _not_ your brother-in-law and you’ve got to stop saying that.”

 

“Yeah sure whatever,” Eggsy said easily, in a way that let Merlin know he was nowhere near done teasing him for having married Merlin’s oldest friend.

 

Merlin snorted and took another sip. “But anyways, you still haven’t answered me about coaching,” he said, changing the subject.

 

Eggsy leaned back a bit, suddenly looking a little wary. “Well to tell you the truth, I _have_ thought about coaching…but just not for the Kingsmen. I’ve kind of been kicking around the idea of starting my own team actually.”

 

“In the Premier League?” Merlin asked incredulously.

 

“Nah mate,” Eggsy said laughing. “Kids’ football. I’d been thinking about starting a kids’ league. Anyone could join but there’d be an emphasis on recruiting kids from underprivileged backgrounds and all that. I thought if I made it nonprofit then I could get a scholarship going for the kids who _really_ need it. Like it could cover membership, equipment, transportation to fields…”

 

Merlin just stared at Eggsy who squirmed, realizing that this idea he’d claimed to have just been ‘kicking around’ was actually quite thought-out.

 

“Anyways I’ve kind of always wanted to try it,” Eggsy continued a little shyly as he looked down. “So I just thought after I retire I’d start with that and see how it goes…”

 

He trailed off, looking somewhat guiltily at Merlin who was still staring at him.

 

“You’re not disappointed are you, Merlin?” he asked.

 

Merlin just shook his head slowly. “No Eggsy.” He raised his glass to his lips, smiling slightly behind the curved rim of the glass. “No I’m not disappointed. Not a bit.”

 

“Right,” Eggsy said relieved. “That’s good then.”

 

Merlin huffed out a laugh. Eggsy had always been his most surprising player and it didn’t seem like he’d be changing that anytime soon. And asking Merlin if he was disappointed…Merlin didn’t think he’d ever been prouder of the lad in his life.

 

Their drinks were getting low when a thought occurred to Merlin.

 

“You know if you wanted to make that kids’ league of yours nonprofit, you’d have an easier time if you had the association of a current league member,” he said. “Not to mention you’d have more access, more benefits and the like, if you had a sponsor’s signature on all your forms…”

 

“Yeah I know,” Eggsy said sighing. “But if I’m retiring after next year then I won’t be formally associated with the league anymore. I know I’d get more benefits if I signed up for it myself now, but I still want to play for one more year and –“

 

“I’m talking about _me_ , you git,” Merlin interrupted. “Silent partner. You’d get funds and access, and I’d get a charitable deduction on my tax returns.”

 

Now it was Eggsy staring at Merlin who suddenly felt uncomfortable.

 

“I mean obviously I wouldn’t think of you as just a tax write-off, I do think it’s a bloody good idea,” Merlin added.

 

“You’d do that?” Eggsy practically squawked, looking at his coach stunned.

 

“Well it’s not pure selflessness on my part,” Merlin said, smiling somewhat ironically. “You’re retiring soon and...” he trailed off and shrugged simply at Eggsy.

 

“Gonna miss working with you,” he said a bit quietly.

 

Eggsy’s throat had closed entirely. So he wordlessly extended his glass instead, and the two clinked glasses again.

 

__

_ 4 years later _

 

Roxy made her way down the hallway of the hotel with long strides, dodging the elegantly-dressed bodies as she rounded the corners as fast as she could get away with without running. She tried to read one of the signs on the wall, cursing that her Russian was so rusty until she noticed the English in smaller print underneath it. She took a left.

 

She was attracting some curious stares as people glanced at the sweaty, rumpled-looking footballer still in her complete football kit, cleats digging into the hotel’s rich carpeting, leaving tiny pieces of synthetic gravel behind as she forged a path through the hotel guests, all clad in formal attire. Some of them were looking disapprovingly at her getup. That is, until they noticed the gold medal around her neck, hanging against her royal blue Kingsmen jersey.

 

Roxy barely registered their gazes switching from judgmental to fawning, as she vaguely caught the Russian word for ‘congratulations’ several times.

 

“Spasibo,” she muttered with a distracted smile as she pushed the button for the elevator that she’d _finally_ found.

 

When the elevator arrived she jumped in, pushing the close-doors button as fast as she could manage. And punching in the floor she wanted she leaned back against the elevator wall, taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes.

 

She opened them again catching sight of herself in the elevator mirror, her flyaway hair, scraped up legs, and creased uniform. Dressed for a World Cup winners’ gala she certainly was not. She was still in her shinpads and sweaty football socks for heaven’s sake.

 

She took a moment to look herself up and down, taking in the sight of her royal blue uniform, suddenly struck by the bittersweet fact that this was the last time she’d ever play in it. She fought a wave of nostalgia and reached up to stroke the gold medal on her chest. Her figure in the mirror did the same thing.

 

Going into Russia to take home gold in the football World Cup was certainly a hell of a way to retire from the team that had meant so much to her. She knew it was her last year on the team, Eggsy’s too, and they’d gone out on top of the world.

 

But standing on the platform and shaking hands with the Russian football president as she and her teammates had gold medals placed around their neck hadn’t given her the rush of satisfaction she’d expected. It was the moment she’d been working towards her whole life but something was missing. Because there was still one more thing she needed, one more thing she had yet to reach out and take…

 

The elevator dinged its arrival on the top floor and Roxy fairly burst out of it, striding down the hall until she’d arrived at Merlin’s door, hammering on it for all she was worth.

 

“It’s open,” a voice called from inside and Roxy wrenched the door open stepping inside.

 

She was unprepared for the sight of Merlin silhouetted against the suite’s window, adjusting his black tuxedo, bowtie hanging undone against his chest, the twinkling city lights of Moscow at night in panorama behind him.

 

He looked up from where he was straightening his cufflinks and saw Roxy standing stock-still in his doorway, still her uniform.

 

“You’re not dressed yet?” he said, laughing a bit.

 

She just quietly shut the door behind her, walking across his hotel suite, still drinking in the sight of him lit up by the city that stretched out beneath them. Her breathing slowed and she felt her heart settle because this was it, this was the final piece, and she knew it in every molecule of her body.

 

“Do you remember what you said to me four years ago?” she asked slowly. They cut quite the contrast, Merlin in his tailored tux, Roxy in her well-worn football uniform, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed by it. For six years of playing for him this is how he’d seen her the most. Something about it felt right.

 

Merlin was about to shake his head when he looked at her, _really_ looked at her, determination written in every corner of her face, except her eyes. They looked up at him softly, questioningly, hopeful but something about them nervous. Merlin’s eyes widened, realizing why she was here. _Oh_.

 

“I believe I told you to go take on the world,” he said slowly.

 

She reached up to clutch the gold World Cup medal still hanging against her chest. Merlin’s eyes followed its path as she drew it over her head, tossing it onto his bed.

 

“And I did,” she said simply, taking a step closer to him. “You also told me you’d still be here when I was done.”

 

Merlin’s breath caught, but he was beginning to smile.

 

“And I am.”

 

“Merlin,” she whispered, a choked sound that seemed to ring out in the dim hotel room. She looked up at him and he gazed down at her, years and years of want stretching out between them.

 

Until they both stepped forward to close the gap. Their eyes met for one fleeting, heart-pounding moment, and then Roxy was whisking the loose bowtie off of Merlin’s neck and dropping it to the floor, Merlin slid an arm around her waist, and then he was kissing Roxy as hard and as perfectly as she’d ever been kissed in her life.

 

Six years, she thought deliriously, opening her mouth under Merlin’s and kissing him back as good as she got. She flung her arms around his neck to give herself more leverage as she kissed him desperately. She soaked in the feeling of his hands running all over her back, fingers digging into the muscles of her shoulders as they both took what they’d promised the other so long ago.

 

Merlin reached down with the hand that wasn’t cupping her back, and scooped up her legs. She practically yelped into his mouth as she felt herself being literally swept off her feet. And never breaking kissing her for an instant, Merlin carried her across the hotel suite until he reached the bed in the corner and practically dumped her onto the mattress, looking down at her and breathing heavily as he wrenched off the jacket of his tux.

 

Roxy felt lightheaded as she stared up at him, her eyes blown, chest heaving, but she still managed to get out: “I take it we’re not going to the dinner?”

 

“I take it you’re officially resigning from the team?” Merlin quipped, laughing a bit as his eyes trailed down Roxy’s legs to where she was kicking off her cleats, her long striped socks quickly following.

 

Roxy grinned as she gripped the hem of her football jersey, and pulling it up and over her head, mussing up her hair even more. She threw it at Merlin and it smacked into his chest.

 

“Consider that my official resignation letter,” she said, mouth curving up.

 

Clutching her jersey, Merlin looked down to where Roxy was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing nothing but her shinpads, a shining pair of football shorts and her black sports bra, hair brushing against her shoulders and legs parted just enough to make a place for him. He couldn’t help the groan that was pulled out of his chest and he dropped her jersey on the floor, pushing her back against the mattress and climbing on top, kissing her as deeply as she’d always dreamt about.

 

She felt something digging into her tailbone and lifted her hips, reaching behind her to grab whatever it was, dropping it to the floor with a thunk. She vaguely registered it was her medal but couldn’t bring herself to care, since when she’d arched her back it had brought her hips right up to Merlin’s, the cloth of his suit straining against where her thighs met. She moaned and was kissing his jaw, his chest, his neck, his mouth, anything she could reach.

 

Six years, Roxy thought again, her legs going around his hips so he could settle between them, her hands wrapping around his broad, muscular back that was still clad in his eveningwear button-down. She tilted her head back so she could kiss him as desperately and messily as she wanted to, moaning every time his tongue swept against hers, everything about him braced over her feeling so warm, so _right_.

 

“I love you,” she breathed against his jaw. “I love you, I love you _so_ much, I’m sorry we couldn’t before, that I couldn’t –“

 

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, pressing his lips to hers, broad hands running down her legs, thigh to calf, where he deftly ripped off the Velcro straps of her shinpads. He tossed them to the floor, gently rubbing the red indents they’d left behind in her skin and she felt the pressure ease.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said again, this time in a whisper that washed over her skin, making her shiver, making her toes curl. “You _know_ I love you, I always have.”

 

She breathed hard where she lay sprawled on his mattress, hands braced against his chest where she could feel his heart going as fast as hers. She looked up at him, at the face she knew so well and still not well enough yet. She reached up with a shaking hand to stroke the side of his face, heart flipping as his eyes met hers, soft with love, stormy with want, and full of everything she’d ever been missing, no barriers between them at last.

 

She pulled his face gently down towards hers, thinking about the years it had taken for them to get to this moment.

 

And as she kissed him, Roxy swore she could feel all of the years between them crumble and melt away.

 

 

_ Five years later _

__

“Are you lot going to stand around all day?” Harry called out good-naturedly from where he was seated on a bench. “Or are you going to play some football?”

 

“Oi, pipe down, old man!” Eggsy shouted back as he arranged a bunch of pylons about the field. He grinned at Merlin who was sticking an assortment of flags into the ground. “Who’s the heckler?”

 

“No idea,” Merlin said. “But he’s welcome to BLOODY HELP US IF HE’S BORED,” he shouted over to Harry.

 

“I’m fine thanks,” said Harry cheerily, stretching his legs out in front of him, tilting his head to get the sun out of his eyes. “Field looks great.”

 

Both Eggsy and Merlin shot him identical two-fingered salutes at the same time and Harry suppressed a snicker. The field did look great though, set up for a multitude of different football drills. And running around them excitedly was Eggsy’s team of eight-to-twelve year olds, all dressed in crisp, bright blue uniforms.

 

It was ‘Play with a professional football team day’ for Eggsy’s kids. And when the current Kingsmen team had first been brought out, the only thing Eggy’s team could do was stare up at the football giants in awe. But as soon as Eggsy and Merlin had gotten them doing drills, all shyness had been abandoned. Now both teams were bouncing around, the Kingsmen delighted by the tiny but determined footballers, and the younger players immediately claiming their favourite footballers and loudly demanding piggybacks.

 

Harry had come along to watch and offer moral support to his husband, but Eggsy was clearly having a ball, directing his team about the field, coaching alongside Merlin, shaking hands with the all-new Kingsmen whom he’d never played with but whose games he still watched avidly, and occasionally scampering over to Harry to see how he was doing.

 

Harry was watching the spectacle entertained when someone behind him asked: “This seat taken?”

 

Harry twisted around, smiling and standing up when he saw it was Roxy.

 

“Hello sweetheart,” he said, kissing her cheek and offering her a seat.

 

She dropped her duffel bag on the pitch and sat down next to him stretching her feet out too, her legs clad in jeans that barely contained the muscles of her quads, clearly just come from a practice.

 

“This is quite the set-up isn’t it?” she asked laughing at the size difference between the two teams that Eggsy and Merlin had doing leg-up drills out on the field.

 

“So far so good,” Harry agreed. “How’s the Olympic training going?”

 

“It’s great!” Roxy said enthusiastically, rolling up the sleeves of her plain, long-sleeved white shirt. “I’d forgotten how fun it is to play on an all-girls team, but we’re having a blast. I still can’t believe I got chosen but I’m too busy enjoying it.”

 

Harry looked at her fondly as she shielded her eyes from the sun as she watched the field. “Like they’d have turned you down,” he said of the British Olympic women’s football team.

 

“Well I’m glad they didn’t,” she said grinning as some of Eggsy’s players lost their balance in elbows-to-knees. “Never mind going to the Olympics, just our practices have been fun enough as it is.”

 

“But to tell you the truth,” she said. “It’s not _quite_ as fun as playing with the Kingsmen ever was.” She said to Harry, smiling softly at him. “Almost…but not quite.”

 

“Well few things ever were,” Harry agreed, lifting a hand to squeeze her shoulder understandingly. He knew how she felt. He turned to look back at field.

 

Roxy followed his gaze. “Do you miss it?” she asked.

 

Harry bit back a smile, remembering how Eggsy had once asked him the very same thing as they’d sat on a bench on this same field, so long ago now.

 

“I do,” he admitted. “I mean I still enjoy my agency, don’t get me wrong.”

 

“Because you’ve always wanted to be a spy?” she asked raising an eyebrow, smirking a little.

 

“Don’t listen to a word Eggsy tells you,” Harry said genteelly and she laughed. “But I don’t know…I never figured myself for a coach, but seeing how much fun Eggsy’s been having with it…”

 

“Well if it’s coaching you’re thinking about,” she said. “You know Merlin’s still looking for an assistant, right?”

 

“He’s not gonna ask you once you’ve finished with the Olympics?” Harry asked forehead creasing.

 

Roxy smiled and shook her head. “Mate, believe me when I say I’ve waited long enough to be done working with Merlin. For once I’m enjoying just _being_ with him.”

 

“I can assure you he’s enjoying it too,” Harry said warmly. And that was an understatement for how head-over-heels happy his oldest friend was these days. After the World Cup he and Roxy had walked around with a glow for _months_ , and everyone had attributed it to their having won the world finals. But people like Eggsy and Harry knew better.

 

“I think he’s enjoying _this_ as well,” she said, nodding to where two tiny blue players were sneaking up on Merlin, laughing as one caught the coach in a headlock and the other yanked the man’s whistle off his neck. Merlin ran after them yelling a series of threats.

 

“Five pounds Eggsy told them to do that,” Harry said laughing.

 

“No bet,” Roxy said grinning. “Speak of the devil.”

 

Eggsy came running over to them. “Hey luv! The kids all want to meet England’s top footballer.”

 

Harry stood up, brushing his suit off.

 

“Not _you_ ,” Eggsy said bursting out laughing. “I was talking to Roxy.”

 

“I _know_ , I just thought I’d come watch,” Harry said rolling his eyes before teasingly adding: “Don’t worry, I’m fully aware I’m just your trophy husband today.”

 

“Well as long as you stand there and look pretty and don’t get in the way like a good trophy husband,” Eggsy said, aiming for Harry’s teasing tone but ending up just sounding totally devoted, as he slid his arms around his husband’s neck.

 

“Mmm, whatever it takes to keep the public happy,” Harry said smiling as he gazed into Eggsy’s twinkling eyes. And unable to resist, he bent down to kiss Eggsy quickly but adoringly.

 

The broke apart and Eggsy reached for Roxy’s hand, giving it a tug.

 

“Let’s go, Dame Roxanne,” he said, sending Harry a wink. They bounded off to the pitch, looking much as they had back when they’d played together and would lead their team out together, cheering and scampering onto the field.

 

Harry went over to stand next to Merlin who had retrieved his whistle and was now making the offending kids’ league players do pushups.

 

“Alick, they’re ten,” he said amiably.

 

“Well it’s never too early to learn proper form,” Merlin murmured, casting a critical eye over the kids’ arms. He blew his whistle. “Head _down_ , Oliver.”

 

“Jog on,” piped out a tiny cockney accent, and Harry burst out laughing.

 

“You want to play with the big leagues, this is how it works,” Merlin shouted back.

 

“I was about to ask when you and Roxy were planning on giving me godchildren, but I think I take it back,” Harry said. But he was only teasing. He could see from here how delighted the kids were by the tall, intimidating-looking coach with the funny accent who talked to them they like were grownups.

 

“And I was about to ask when you’re planning to quit moonlighting as Miss Marple,” Merlin said back, turning to look wickedly at Harry.

 

Harry bristled at the nickname that Merlin, Roxy and Eggsy had given him, and which they all showed absolutely no signs of dropping.

 

“You know I don’t sit around my drawing room knitting while I wait for clients to come ask me about missing cats and misplaced teapots, don’t you? I mean you all realize I run a legitimate private security _agency_ , right?”

 

“If you say so, mate, it’s not like any of us have ever seen it,” Merlin said mildly, waving his hands for the players to stop doing their pushups.

 

“What part about _private_ agency do you not under – oh stop taking the piss. Why are you asking anyways?”

 

“Well you know I’m looking for an assistant coach right?” Merlin asked. “Mostly administrative duties, but a certain amount of direct coaching as well.”

 

“Roxy mentioned, yes,” Harry said nodding. “She suggested I throw my hat in the ring.”

 

“Well would you?” Merlin asked, turning to look at him properly. “Roxy’s got her hands full with Olympic preparations, and this one wouldn’t drop his latest gig for the world,” he said, gesturing to Eggsy who’d just run by holding a football flag, being chased by a bunch of shouting mini footballers. They took a moment to laugh at Eggsy’s panicked face before Merlin turned back to Harry.

 

“There’s even _more_ administrative work to do in coaching nowadays, you wouldn’t believe it,” he continued. “It’s really a two-man job now, and if I’m going to hire out, I’d just rather it be someone I trust.”

 

“Well I have been thinking of scaling down,” Harry admitted. “Security has its perks but as you know I have been feeling like a different direction.”

 

“You wouldn’t consider making it back in the direction of football would you?” Merlin asked. His tone was casual but Harry could see the man meant it. Harry hesitated.

 

“I know you miss it, Hart,” Merlin said quietly. “Just think about it, alright?”

 

“I would think about it,” Harry said smiling at his friend. “I really would. Let’s talk details later alright?”

 

“Alright,” Merlin agreed.

 

Just then Roxy came bounding over fake-screaming, jumping into Merlin’s arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He caught her with an ‘ _oof’_.

 

“What’s all this then?” he asked her smilingly, adjusting his arms under her thighs, and Harry felt warmed as always to see how unfailingly amazed Merlin looked every time he realized such a vibrantly beautiful alive young thing was so openly _his_. Harry knew how he felt.

 

“I’m under attack,” she said laughing, and soon they were swamped by a bunch of tiny players brandishing the flags Merlin and Eggsy had set up earlier, holding them like spears. They were quickly followed by a panting Eggsy.

 

“Oi, you’re supposed to be getting _those_ guys,” he said, gesturing to the Kingsmen players in royal blue. “Current members only, leave that one alone. She’s paid her dues.”

 

The small team wheeled back out onto the pitch hollering war cries and Eggsy took a minute to lean against Harry, breathing heavily.

 

“I don’t remember this particular football drill,” Harry said amused, reaching up to brush his fingers through Eggsy’s sweaty hair.

 

“If you can even call it that,” Merlin spoke up, setting Roxy back on the ground, and looking at the two teams who were playing something that seemed only tangentially related to football.

 

“I think they invented it right now,” Eggsy panted, wiping his face with the bottom of the coach’s jersey he was wearing.

 

“Well whatever it is, it’s a workout,” Roxy said, arm around Merlin’s waist, looking at the players who were now just running amok engaged in what looked like all-out capture-the-flag warfare. “Something for the new Kingsmen to do in practices, hmm?” she asked jokingly to Merlin.

 

“Don’t give him any ideas, he’ll get them doing it with actual spears,” Eggsy said laughing. He exchanged an affectionate look with Roxy, blowing his best friend and former teammate a kiss. He’d seen his mate look pretty radiant over the years, but never more so than when she was leaning into Merlin, head against his shoulder, smile and posture completely secure and relaxed.

 

Merlin tightened his arms around Roxy’s shoulders, and Eggsy leaned further back against Harry, and the four all stood watching the battle breaking out on the pitch, laughing whenever a player went down, and yelling out helpful tips for how the other team could best tackle them.

 

Pressed against Harry’s chest, Eggsy realized the sun was getting lower in the sky. All too soon they’d be packing up for the day and he’d be arranging transport to get the kids home. He made a mental note to ask Merlin if the teams could all go grab ice cream later.

 

He tilted his head back to look between his husband and his former coach. “What were you two whispering about over here anyways?”

 

“Merlin thinks I should come on as assistant coach, do you?” Harry asked, wrapping his arms comfortably around Eggsy.

 

Eggsy shrugged. “If you want.”

 

“ _That’s_ all you have to say?” Harry asked incredulously.

 

Eggsy burst out laughing, unable to keep his casual façade any longer.

 

“You kidding me? I think it would be _brilliant_.” He turned to look at Harry with a ridiculously large smile, which Harry quickly kissed.

 

“Yes well, there are still some things at work I’d have to take care of first,” Harry said. He glanced at Merlin over Eggsy’s head, sending him a smile. “But I can’t deny, we made a pretty good team didn’t we?”

 

“We certainly did,” Merlin agreed, smiling back, and they all looked back out over the field where the newest team of Kingsmen had gotten a football out again and were chucking it towards the kids. “We certainly did.”

 

The sun was even lower now, but no one seemed to notice, the whoops and yells from the pitch only getting louder. Eggsy, Harry, Merlin, and Roxy stood in a row on the sidelines, listening to the laughter and yelling from the people on the field who’d started up a proper game of football again, young players mixed with old. None of them showed any signs of being tired out yet. And so the four friends stayed where they were, arms slung about each other in pairs, as the latest group of Kingsmen ran down the pitch, passing the ball over to the newer generation of players who were following close behind at their heels. And they continued to watch the two teams kick the football back and forth, all of them running and racing together under the hot, slowly sinking summer sun.

 

 

 


End file.
